UC-NRLF 


EDUCATION  LIBR. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

Education 

GIFT  OF 

Louise  Farrow  Barr 


Copyright,  i88o,  by 
ANSON   D.   F.  RANDOLPH  &  COMPANY. 


Educatiori 

GIFT 


INTRODUCTORY    NOTE. 


{The  present  edition  of  **  Stepping  Heavenward"  is  printed 
from  new  electrotype  plates.  The  publishers  have  thotight  that  its 
value  would  be  further  enhanced  by  a  brief  notice  of  the  atithor  ; 
and  at  their  request  the  following  sketch  has  been  prepared.^ 

Elizabeth  Prentiss  was  born  at  Portland,  Me., 
on  the  26th  of  October,  1818,  and  died,  after  a 
brief  illness,  at  Dorset,  Vt.,  on  the  13th  of  August, 
1878.  She  was  the  youngest  daughter  of  the  Rev. 
Edward  Payson,  D.D.,  a  very  eminent  servant  of 
Christ,  whose  praise  is  still  in  all  the  churches.  At 
the  age  of  sixteen  she  began  to  write  for  the  press  : 
the  little  volume  entitled  "Only  a  Dandelion,"  con- 
sisting chiefly  of  her  early  contributions  to  **  The 
Youth's  Companion,"  of  Boston.  The  works  by 
which  she  is  best  known,  are  "  Little  Susy's  Six 
Birthdays,"  with  its  companions,  and  "Stepping 
Heavenward."  The  latter  was  first  published  in 
1869.  It  has  passed  through  many  editions  in  this 
country  and  has  had  a  very  wide  circulation  in 
Great  Britain,  Canada  and  Australia.  It  was  also 
translated  into  French  and  German,  and  several 
editions  of  it  have  been  issued  in  those  languages. 
Last  year  it  appeared  at  Leipsic  in  Tauchnitz's  "  Col- 
lection of  British  Authors."  Among  Mrs.  Pren- 
tiss's other  works,  which  have  been  widely  circu- 
lated both  at  home  and  abroad,  are  "'  The  Flower 

3GS 


iv  Introductory  Note 

of  the  Family,"  "  Little  Lou's  Sayings  and  Doings/* 
''  Henry  and  Bessie,"  "  Fred  and  Maria  and  Me," 
"The  Percys,"  *' Nidworth  and  His  Three  Magic 
Wands,"  "The  Story  Lizzie  Told,"  "The  Home  at 
Greylock,"  "Aunt  Jane's  Hero,"  "Urbane  and  His 
Friends,"  "Pemaquid,"  and  "Golden  Hours;  or. 
Hymns  and  Songs  of  the  Christian  Life."  The  aim 
of  her  writings,  whether  designed  for  young  or  old, 
is  to  incite  4:o  patience,  fidelity,  hope  and  all  good- 
ness by  showing  how  trust  in  God  and  loving  obedi- 
ence to  His  blessed  will  brighten  the  darkest  paths 
and  make  a  heaven  4ipon  earth. 

Of  her  religious  character  the  key-note  is  struck 
in  her  own  hymn,  "More  love  to  Thee,  O  Christ." 
That  was  her  ruling  passion  in  life  and  in  death. 
Writing  to  a  young  friend  from  Dorset,  in  1873,  she 
says  :  "  To  love  Christ  more — this  is  the  deepest 
need,  the  constant  cry  of  my  soul.  Down  in  the 
bowling-alley,  and  out  in  the  woods,  and  on  my  bed, 
and  out  driving,  when  I  am  happy  and  busy,  and 
when  I  am  sad  and  idle,  the  whisper  keeps  going  up 
for  more  love,  more  love,  more  love  !  " 

The  following  recollections  of  her  by  Mrs.  Mary 
H.  B.  Field,  now  of  San  Jose,  California,  may  fitly 
complete  this  sketch. 

It  was  the  first  Sunday  in  September,  1866 — a 
quiet,  perfect  day  among  the  green  hills  of  Ver- 
mont— a  sacramental  Sabbath — and  we  had  come 
seven  miles  over  the  mountain  to  go  up  to  the 
house  of  the  Lord.  I  had  brought  my  little  two- 
months-old  baby  in  my  arms,  intending  to  leave  her 


Introductory  Note  v 

during  the  service  at  our  brother's  home,  which  was 
near  the  church.  I  knew  that  Mrs.  Prentiss  was  a 
'* summer  boarder"  in  this  home,  that  she  was  the 
wife  of  a  distinguished  clergyman,  and  a  literary- 
woman  of  decided  ability  ;  but  it  was  before  the 
"  Stepping  Heavenward  "  epoch  of  her  life,  and  I 
had  no  very  deep  interest  in  the  prospect  of  meet- 
ing her.  We  went  in  at  the  hospitably  open  door, 
and  meeting  no  one,  sat  down  in  the  pleasant  family 
living-room.  It  was  about  noon,  and  we  could  hear 
cheerful  voices  talking  over  the  lunch-table  in  the 
dining-room.  Presently  the  door  opened,  and .  a 
slight,  delicate-featured  woman,  with  beautiful  large 
dark  eyes,  came  with  rapid  step  into  the  room,  going 
across  to  a  hall  door  ;  but  her  quick  eye  caught  a 
glimpse  of  my  little  *^  bundle  of  flannel,"  and  not 
pausing  for  an  introduction  or  word  of  preparatory 
speech,  she  came  towards  me  with  a  beaming  face 
and  outstretched  hands  : — 

"  O,  have  you  a  baby  there  ?  How  delightful  !  I 
haven't  seen  one  for  such  an  age  !  Please,  may  I 
take  it  ?  The  darling  tiny  creature  ! — a  girl  ?  How 
lovely  ! " 

She  took  the  baby  tenderly  in  her  arms  and  went 
on  in  her  eager,  quick,  informal  way,  but  with  a 
bright  little  blush  and  smile, — "  Fm  not  very  polite — 
pray,  let  me  introduce  myself  !  Fm  Mrs.  Prentiss, 
and  you  are  Mrs.  Field,  I  know." 

After  a  little  more  sweet,  motherly  comment  and 
question  over  the  baby, — "a  touch  of  nature  "  which 
at  once  made  us  "akin," — she  asked,  "Have  you 
brought  the  baby  to  be  christened  ?" 


vi  Introductory  Note 

I  said,  No,  I  thought  it  would  be  better  to  wait 
till  she  was  a  little  older. 

**  O,  no  ! "  she  pleaded,  "do  let  us  take  her  over 
to  the  church  now.  The  younger  the  better,  I  think; 
it  is  so  uncertain  about  our  keeping  such  treasures." 

I  still  objected  that  I  had  not  dressed  the  little 
one  for  so  public  an  occasion. 

"O,  never  mind  about  that,"  she  said.  "She  is 
really  lovelier  in  this  simple  fashion  than  to  be 
loaded  with  lace  and  embroidery."  Then,  her  sweet 
face  growing  more  earnest, — "There  will  be  more 
of  us  here  to-day  than  at  the  next  Communion — 
more  of  us  to  pray  for  her'' 

The  little  lamb  was  taken  into  the  fold  that  day, 
and  I  was  Mrs.  Prentiss's  warm  friend  for  evermore. 
Her  whole  beautiful  character  had  revealed  itself 
to  me  in  that  little  interview, — the  quick  perception, 
the  wholly  frank,  unconventional  manner,  the  sweet 
motherliness,  the  cordial  interest  in  even  a  stranger, 
the  fervent  piety  which  could  not  bear  delay  in  duty, 
and  even  the  quaint,  original,  forcible  thought  and 
way  of  expressing  it, — "There'll  be  more  of  us  here 
to  pray  for  her  to-day." 

For  seven  successive  summers  I  saw  more  or  less 
of  her  in  this  ^*  Earthly  Paradise,"  as  she  used  to 
call  it,  and  once  I  visited  her  in  her  city  home.  I 
have  been  favored  with  many  of  her  sparkling,  vi- 
vacious letters,  and  have  read  and  re-read  all  her 
published  writings  ;  but  that  first  meeting  held  in 
it  for  me  the  key-note  of  all  her  wonderfully  beau- 
tiful and  symmetrical  character. 

She  brought  to  that  little  hamlet  among  the  hills 


Introductory  Note  vii 

a  sweet  and  wholesome  and  powerful  influence. 
While  her  time  was  too  valuable  to  be  wasted  in  a 
general  sociability,  she  yet  found  leisure  for  an  ex- 
tensive acquaintance,  for  a  kindly  interest  in  all  her 
neighbors,  and  for  Christian  work  of  many  kinds. 
Probably  the  weekly  meeting  for  Bible-reading  and 
prayer,  which  she  conducted,  was  her  closest  link 
with  the  women  of  Dorset,  but  these  meetings  were 
established  after  I  had  bidden  good-bye  to  the  dear 
old  town,  and  I  leave  others  to  tell  how  their  "  hearts 
burned  within  them  as  she  opened  to  them  the 
Scriptures/' 

She  had  in  a  remarkable  degree  the  lovely  femi- 
nine gift  of  home-making.  She  was  a  true  decorative 
artist.  Her  room  when  she  was  boarding,  and  her 
home  after  it  was  completed,  were  bowers  of  beauty. 
Every  walk  over  hill  and  dale,  every  ramble  by 
brookside  or  through  wildwood,  gave  to  her  some 
fresh  home-adornment.  Some  shy  wild-flower  or 
fern,  or  brilliant  tinted  leaf,  a  bit  of  moss,  a  curious 
lichen,  a  deserted  bird's  nest,  a  strange  fragment  of 
rock,  a  shining  pebble,  would  catch  her  passing 
glance  and  reveal  to  her  quick  artistic  sense  possi- 
bilities of  use  which  were  quaint,  original,  charac- 
teristic. One  saw  from  afar  that  hers  was  a  poet's 
home ;  and,  if  permitted  to  enter  its  gracious  por- 
tals, the  first  impression  deepened  into  certainty. 
There  was  as  strong  an  individuality  about  her 
home,  and  especially  about  her  own  little  study,  as 
there  was  about  herself  and  her  writings.  A  cheer- 
ful, sunny,  hospitable  Christian  home  !  Far  and 
wide  its  potent  influences  reached,  and  it  was  a 


viii  Introductory  Note 

beautiful  thing  to  see  how  many  another  home, 
humble  or  stately,  grew  emulous  and  blossomed 
into  a  new  loveliness. 

Mrs.  Prentiss  was  naturally  a  shy  and  reserved 
woman,  and  necessarily  a  preoccupied  one.  There- 
fore she  was  sometimes  misunderstood.  But  those 
who  knew  her  best  and  were  blest  with  her  rare 
intimacy  knew  her  as  ^'  a  perfect  woman  nobly 
planned."  Her  conversation  was  charming.  Her 
close  study  of  nature  taught  her  a  thousand  happy 
symbols  and  illustrations,  which  made  both  what 
she  said  and  wrote  a  mosaic  of  exquisite  compari- 
sons. Her  studies  of  character  were  equally  con- 
stant and  penetrating.  Nothing  escaped  her  ;  no 
peculiarity  of  mind  or  manner  failed  of  her  quick 
observation,  but  it  was  always  a  kindly  interest. 
She  did  not  ridicule  that  which  was  simply  ignor- 
ance or  weakness,  and  she  saw  with  keen  pleasure 
all  that  was  quaint,  original  or  strong,  even  when  it 
was  hidden  beneath  the  homeliest  garb.  She  had 
the  true  artist's  liking  for  that  which  was  simple 
and  genre.  The  common  things  of  common  life 
appealed  to  her  sympathies  and  called  out  all  her 
attention.  It  was  a  real,  hearty  interest,  too — not 
feigned,  even  in  a  sense  generally  thought  praise- 
worthy. Indeed,  no  one  ever  had  a  more  intense 
scorn  of  every  sort  of  feigning.  She  was  honest, 
truthful,  genuine  to  the  highest  degree.  It  may  have 
sometimes  led  her  into  seeming  lack  of  courtesy, 
but  even  this  was  a  failing  which  ^'leaned  to  virtue's 
side."  I  chanced  to  know  of  her  once  calling  with 
a  friend  on  a  country  neighbor,  and  finding  the 


Int^^oductory  Note  ix 

good  housewife  busy  over  a  rag-carpet.  Mrs.  Pren- 
tiss, who  had  never  seen  one  of  these  bits  of  rural 
manufacture  in  its  elementary  processes,  was  full  of 
questions  and  interest,  thereby  quite  evidently 
pleasing  the  unassuming  artist  in  assorted  rags  and 
home-made  dyes.  When  the  visitors  were  safely 
outside  the  door  Mrs.  Prentiss's  friend  turned  to  her 
with  the  exclamation,  "What  tact  you  have!  She 
really  thought  you  were  interested  in  her  work  !  " 
The  quick  blood  sprang  into  Mrs.  Prentiss's  face, 
and  she  turned  upon  her  friend  a  look  of  amaze- 
ment and  rebuke.  "Tact!"  she  said,  "  I  despise 
such  tact !     Do  you  think  I  would  look  or  act  a  lie  ?  " 

She  was  an  exceedingly  practical  v/oman,  not  a 
dreamer.  A  systematic,  thorough  housekeeper, 
with  as  exalted  ideals  in  all  the  affairs  which  pertain 
to  good  housewifery  as  in  those  matters  which  are 
generally  thought  to  transcend  these  humble  occu- 
pations. Like  Solomon's  virtuous  woman,  she 
"  looked  well  after  the  ways  of  her  household." 
Methodical,  careful  of  minutes,  simple  in  her  tastes, 
abstemious,  and  therefore  enjoying  evenly  good 
heal-th  in  spite  of  her  delicate  constitution — this  is 
the  secret  of  her  accomplishing  so  much.  Yet  all 
this  foundation  of  exactness  and  diligence  was  so 
"  rounded  with  leafy  gracefulness  "  that  she  never 
seemed  angular  or  unyielding. 

With  her  children  she  was  a  model  disciplinarian, 
exceedingly  strict,  a  wise  law-maker  ;  yet  withal  a 
tender,  devoted,  self-sacrificing  mother.  I  have 
never  seen  such  exact  obedience  required  and  given, 
or  a  more  idolized  mother.     "  Mamma's  "  word  was 


X  Introductory  Note 

indeed  law^  but — O  happy  combination  ! — it  was 
also  gospel. 

How  warm  and  true  her  friendship  was  !  How 
little  of  selfishness  in  all  her  intercourse  with  other 
women  !  How  well  she  loved  to  be  of  service  to 
her  friends  !  How  anxious  that  each  should  reach 
her  highest  possibilities  of  attainment !  I  record 
with  deepest  sense  of  obligation  the  cordial,  gener- 
ous, sympathetic  assistance  of  many  kinds  extended 
by  her  to  me  during  our  whole  acquaintance.  To 
every  earnest  worker  in  any  field  she  gladly  "  lent 
a  hand,"  rejoicing  in  all  the  successes  of  others  as 
if  they  were  her  own. 

But  if  weakness,  or  trouble,  or  sorrow  of  any  sort 
or  degree  overtook  one  she  straightway  became  as 
one  of  God's  own  ministering  spirits — an  angel  of 
strength  and  consolation.  Always  more  eager, 
however,  that  souls  should  grow  than  that  pain  should 
cease.  Volumes  could  be  made  of  her  letters  to 
friends  in  sorrow.  One  tender  monotone  steals 
through  them  all, — 

-'Come  unto  me,  my  kindred,  I  enfold  you 
In  an  embrace  to  sufferers  only  known  ; 
Close  to  this  heart  I  tenderly  will  hold  you, 
Suppress  no  sigh,  keep  back  no  tear,  no  moan. 

"Thou  Man  of  Sorrows,  teach  my  lips  that  often 
Have  told  the  sacred  story  of  my  woe, 
To  speak  of  Thee  till  stony  griefs  I  soften, 

Till  hearts  that  know  Thee  not  learn  Thee  to  know. 

"  Till  peace  takes  place  of  storm  and  agitation. 
Till  lying  on  the  current  of  Thy  will 
There  shall  be  glorying  in  tribulation, 
And  Christ  Himself  each  empty  heart  shall  fill." 


Introductory  Note  xi 

Few  have  the  gift  or  the  courage  to  deal  faith- 
fully yet  lovingly  with  an  erring  soul,  but  she  did 
not  shrink  back  even  from  this  service  to  those  she 
loved.  I  can  bear  witness  to  the  wisdom,  penetra- 
tion, skill  and  fidelity  with  which  she  probed  a 
terribly  wounded  spirit,  and  then  said  with  tender 
solemnity,  "/  think  you  need  a  great  deal  of  good 
praying  y 

O  **  vanished  hand,"  still  beckon  to  us  from  the 
Eternal  Heights  !  O  ^'  voice  that  is  still,"  speak  to 
us  yet  from  the  Shining  Shore  ! 

"  Still  let  thy  mild  rebuking  stand 
Between  us  and  the  wrong, 
And  thy  dear  memory  serve  to  make 
Our  faith  in  goodness  strong." 

G.  L.  P. 

New  York,  October  36,  1880. 


STEPPING  HEAVENWARD. 
I. 

January  15,   1831. 

How  dreadfully  old  I  am  getting!  Sixteen!  Well, 
I  don't  see  as  I  can  help  it.  There  it  is  in  the  big 
Bible  in  father's  own  hand: 

**Katherine,  born  Jan.  15,  1815." 

I  meant  to  get  up  early  this  morning,  but  it  looked 
dismally  cold  out  of  doors,  and  felt  delightfully 
warm  in  bed.  So  I  covered  myself  up,  and  made 
ever  so  many  good  resolutions. 

I  determined,  in  the  first  place,  to  begin  this  Jour- 
nal. To  be  sure,  I  have  begun  half  a  dozen,  and  got 
tired  of  them  after  a  while.  Not  tired  of  writing 
them,  but  disgusted  with  what  I  had  to  say  of  my- 
self. But  this  time  I  mean  to  go  on,  in  spite  of 
everything.  It  will  do  me  good  to  read  it  over,  and 
see  what  a  creature  I  am. 

Then  I  resolved  to  do  more  to  please  mother  than 
I  have  done. 

And  I  determined  to  make  one  more  effort  to  con- 
quer my  hasty  temper.  I  thought,  too,  I  would  be 
self-denying  this  winter,  like  the  people  one  reads 
about  in  books.  I  fancied  how  surprised  and  pleased 
everybody  would  be  to  see  me  so  much  improved! 


2  Stepping  Heavenward 

Time  passed  quickly  amid  these  agreeable 
thoughts,  and  I  was  quite  startled  to  hear  the  bell 
ring  for  prayers.  I  jumped  up  in  a  great  flurry  and 
dressed  as  quickly  as  I  could.  Everything  con- 
spired together  to  plague  me.  I  could  not  find  a 
clean  collar,  or  a  handkerchief.  It  is  always  just  so. 
Susan  is  forever  poking  my  things  into  out-of-the- 
way  places!  When  at  last  I  went  down,  they  were 
all  at  breakfast. 

**  I  hoped  you  would  celebrate  your  birthday,  dear, 
by  coming  down  in  good  season,"  said  mother. 

I  do  hate  to  be  found  fault  with,  so  I  fired  up  in 
an  instant. 

"  If  people  hide  my  things  so  that  I  can't  find  them, 
of  course  I  have  to  be  late,"  I  said.  And  I  rather 
think  I  said  it  in  a  very  cross  way,  for  mother  sighed 
a  little.  I  wish  mother  wouldn't  sigh.  I  would 
rather  be  called  names  out  and  out. 

The  moment  breakfast  was  over  I  had  to  hurry 
off  to  school.     Just  as  I  was  going  out  mother  said, 

"  Have  you  your  overshoes,  dear  ?" 

"Oh,  mother,  don't  hinder  me  !  I  shall  be  late," 
I  said.     "I  don't  need  overshoes." 

"  It  snowed  all  night,  and  I  think  you  do  need 
them,"  mother  said. 

"  I  don't  know  where  they  are.  I  hate  overshoes. 
Do  let  me  go,  mother,"  I  cried.  **  I  do  wish  I  could 
ever  have  my  own  way." 

"  You  shall  have  it  now,  my  child,"  mother  said, 
and  went  away. 

Now  what  was  the  use  of  her  calling  me  *'my 
child ''  in  such  a  tone,  I  should  like  tQ  know. 


"  Mother  called  me  to  her  room ;  she  said  I  gave  her  a  great 
deal  of  pain.'' 


Stepping  Heavenward  3 

I  hurried  off,  and  just  as  I  got  to  the  door  of  the 
school-room  it  flashed  into  my  mind  that  I  had  not 
said  my  prayers  !  A  nice  way  to  begin  on  one's 
birthday,  to  be  sure  !  Well,  I  had  not  time.  And 
perhaps  my  good  resolutions  pleased  God  almost  as 
much  as  one  of  my  rambling  stupid  prayers  could. 
For  I  must  own  I  can't  make  good  prayers.  I  can't 
think  of  anything  to  say.  I  often  wonder  what 
mother  finds  to  say  when  she  is  shut  up  by  the  hour 
together. 

I  had  a  pretty  good  time  at  school.  My  teachers 
praised  me,  and  Amelia  seemed  so  fond  of  me!  She 
brought  me  a  birthday  present  of  a  purse  that  she 
had  knit  for  me  herself,  and  a  net  for  my  hair.  Nets 
are  just  coming  into  fashion.  It  will  save  a  good 
deal  of  time  my  having  this  one.  Instead  of  comb- 
ing and  combing  and  combing  my  old  hair  to  get  it 
glossy  enough  to  suit  mother,  I  can  just  give  it  one 
twist  and  one  squeeze  and  the  whole  thing  will  be 
settled  for  the  day. 

Amelia  wrote  me  a  dear  little  note,  with  her  pres- 
ents. I  do  really  believe  she  loves  me  dearly.  It  is 
so  nice  to  have  people  love  you  ! 

When  I  got  home  mother  called  me  into  her  room. 
She  looked  as  if  she  had  been  crying.  She  said  I 
gave  her  a  great  deal  of  pain  by  my  self-will  and 
ill  temper  and  conceit. 

"Conceit!"  I  screamed  out.  "Oh,  mother,  if  you 
only  knew  how  horrid  I  think  I  am  !" 

Mother  smiled  a  little.  Then  she  went  on  with 
her  list  till  she  made  me  out  the  worst  creature  in 
the  world.     I  burst  out  crying,  and  was  running  off 


4  Stepping  Heavenward 

to  my  room,  but  she  made  me  come  back  and  hear 
the  rest.  She  said  my  character  would  be  essen- 
tially formed  by  the  time  I  reached  my  twentieth 
year,  and  left  it  to  me  to  say  if  I  wished  to  be  as  a 
woman  what  I  was  now  as  a  girl.  I  felt  sulky,  and 
would  not  answer.  I  was  shocked  to  think  I  had 
got  only  four  years  in  which  to  improve,  but  after 
all  a  good  deal  could  be  done  in  that  time.  Of 
course  I  don*t  want  to  be  always  exactly  what  I  am 
now. 

Mother  went  on  to  say  that  I  had  in  me  the  ele- 
ments of  a  fine  character  if  I  would  only  conquer 
some  of  my  faults.  '^  You  are  frank  and  truthful," 
she  said,  '*  and  in  some  things  conscientious.  I  hope 
you  are  really  a  child  of  God,  and  are  trying  to 
please  Him.  And  it  is  my  daily  prayer  that  you 
may  become  a  lovely,  loving,  useful  woman.'* 

I  made  no  answer.  I  wanted  to  say  something, 
but  my  tongue  wouldn't  move.  I  was  angry  with 
mother,  and  angry  with  myself.  At  last  everything 
came  out  all  in  a  rush,  mixed  up  with  such  floods  of 
tears  that  I  thought  mother's  heart  would  melt,  and 
that  she  would  take  back  what  she  had  said. 

"  Amelia's  mother  never  talks  so  to  her  !"  I  said. 
"  She  praises  her,  and  tells  her  what  a  comfort  she  is 
to  her.  But  just  as  I  am  trying  as  hard  as  I  can  to 
be  good,  and  making  resolutions,  and  all  that,  you 
scold  me  and  discourage  me  !" 

Mother's  voice  was  very  soft  and  gentle  as  she 
asked, 

"  Do  you  call  this  *  scolding,'  my  child  ?" 

"  And  I  don't  like  to  be  called  conceited,"  I  wen- 


Stepping  Heavenward  5 

on.  "  I  know  I  am  perfectly  horrid,  and  I  am  just 
as  unhappy  as  I  can  be." 

'*  I  am  very  sorry  for  you,  dear,"  mother  replied. 
"  But  you  must  bear  with  me.  Other  people  will 
see  your  faults,  but  only  your  mother  will  have  the 
courage  to  speak  of  them.  Now  go  to  your  own 
room,  and  wipe  away  the  traces  of  your  tears  that 
the  rest  of  the  family  may  not  know  that  you  have 
been  crying  on  your  birthday."  She  kissed  me  but 
I  did  not  kiss  her.  I  really  believe  Satan  himself 
hindered  me.  I  ran  across  the  hall  to  my  room, 
slammed  the  door,  and  locked  myself  in.  I  was  go- 
ing to  throw  myself  on  the  bed  and  cry  till  I  was 
sick.  Then  I  should  look  pale  and  tired,  and  they 
Avould  all  pity  me.  I  do  like  so  to  be  pitied  !  But 
on  the  table,  by  the  window,  I  saw  a  beautiful  new 
desk  in  place  of  the  old  clumsy  thing  I  had  been 
spattering  and  spoiling  so  many  years.  A  little 
note,  full  of  love,  said  it  was  from  mother,  and  beg- 
ged me  to  read  and  reflect  upon  a  few  verses  of  a 
tastefully  bound  copy  of  the  Bible  which  accompa- 
nied it  every  day  of  my  life.  "A  few  verses,"  she 
said,  *'  carefully  read  and  pondered,  instead  of  a 
chapter  or  two  read  for  mere  form's  sake."  I  looked 
at  my  desk,  which  contained  exactly  what  I  wanted, 
plenty  of  paper,  seals,  wax  and  pens.  I  always  use 
wax.  Wafers  are  vulgar.  Then  I  opened  the  Bible 
at  random,  and  lighted  on  these  words  : 

"Watch,  therefore,  for  ye  know  not  what  hour 
your  Lord  doth  come."  There  v^as  nothing  very 
cheering  in  that.  I  felt  a  real  repugnance  to  be  al- 
ways on  the  watch,  thinking  I  might  die  at  any  mo- 


6  Stepping  Heavenward 

ment.  I  am  sure  I  am  not  fit  to  die.  Besides  I 
want  to  have  a  good  time,  with  nothing  to  worry 
me.  I  hope  I  shall  live  ever  so  long.  Perhaps  in 
the  course  of  forty  or  fifty  years  I  may  get  tired  of 
this  world  and  want  to  leave  it.  And  I  hope  by  that 
time  I  shall  be  a  great  deal  better  than  1  am  now, 
and  fit  to  go  to  heaven. 

I  wrote  a  note  to  mother  on  my  new  desk,  and 
thanked  her  for  it.  I  told  her  she  was  the  best 
mother  in  the  world,  and  that  I  was  the  worst 
daughter.  When  it  was  done  I  did  not  like  it,  and 
so  I  wrote  another.  Then  I  went  down  to  dinner 
and  felt  better.  We  had  such  a  nice  dinner!  Every- 
thing I  liked  best  was  on  the  table.  Mother  had  not 
forgotten  one  of  all  the  dainties  I  like.  Amelia  was 
there  too.  Mother  had  invited  her  to  give  me  a  lit- 
tle surprise.  It  is  bedtime  now,  and  I  must  say  my 
prayers  and  go  to  bed.  I  have  got  all  chilled 
through,  writing  here  in  the  cold.  I  believe  I  will 
say  my  prayers  in  bed,  just  for  this  once.  I  do  not 
feel  sleepy,  but  I  am  sure  I  ought  not  to  sit  up  an- 
other moment. 

Jan.  30. — Here  I  am  at  my  desk  once  more.  There 
is  a  fire  in  my  room,  and  mother  is  sitting  by  it, 
reading.  I  can't  see  what  book  it  is,  but  I  have  no 
doubt  it  is  Thomas  a  Kempis.  How  she  can  go  on 
reading  it  so  year  after  year,  I  cannot  imagine.  For 
my  part  I  like  something  new.  But  I  must  go  back 
to  where  I  left  off. 

That  night  when  I  stopped  writing,  I  hurried  to 
bed  as  fast  as  I  could,  for  I  felt  cold  and  tired.    I 


Stepping  Heavenward  7 

remember  saying,  "  Oh,  God,  I  am  ashamed  to 
pray,"  and  then  I  began  to  think  of  all  the  things 
that  had  happened  that  day,  and  never  knew  an- 
other thing  till  the  rising  bell  rang  and  I  found  it 
was  morning.  I  am  sure  I  did  not  mean  to  go  to 
sleep.  I  think  now  it  was  wrong  for  me  to  be  such 
a  coward  as  to  try  to  say  my  prayers  in  bed  because 
of  the  cold.  While  I  was  writing  I  did  not  once 
think  how  I  felt.  Well,  I  jumped  up  as  soon  as  I 
heard  the  bell,  but  found  I  had  a  dreadful  pain  in 
my  side,  and  a  cough.  Susan  says  I  coughed  all 
night.  I  remembered  then  that  I  had  just  such  a 
cough  and  just  such  a  pain  the  last  time  I  walked  in 
the  snow  Without  overshoes.  I  crept  back  to  bed 
feeling  about  as  mean  as  I  could.  Mother  sent  up 
to  know  why  I  did  not  come  down,  and  I  had  to  own 
that  I  was  sick.  She  came  up  directly  looking  so 
anxious  !  And  here  I  have  been  shut  up  ever  since  ; 
only  to-day  I  am  sitting  up  a  little.  Poor  mother 
has  had  trouble  enough  with  me  ;  I  know  I  have 
been  cross  and  unreasonable,  and  it  was  all  my  own 
fault  that  I  was  ill.  Another  time  I  will  do  as 
mother  says. 

Jan.  31. — How  easy  it  is  to  make  good  resolutions, 
and  how  easy  it  is  to  break  them  !  Just  as  I  had 
got  so  far,  yesterday,  mother  spoke  for  the  third 
time  about  my  exerting  myself  so  much.  And  just 
at  that  moment  I  fainted  away,  and  she  had  a  great 
time  all  alone  there  with  me.  I  did  not  realize  how 
long  I  had  been  writing,  nor  how  weak  I  was.     I  do 


8  Stepping  Heavenward 

wonder   if   I    shall   ever   really  learn    that   mother 
knows  more  than  I  do  ! 

Feb.  17. — It  is  more  than  a  month  since  I  took 
that  cold,  and  here  I  still  am,  shut  up  in  the  house. 
To  be  sure  the  doctor  lets  me  go  down  stairs,  but 
then  he  won't  listen  to  a  word  about  school.  Oh, 
dear  !     All  the  girls  will  get  ahead  of  me. 

This  is  Sunday,  and  everybody  has  gone  to 
church.  I  thought  I  ought  to  make  a  good  use  of 
the  time  while  they  were  gone,  so  I  took  the  Memoir 
of  Henry  Martyn,  and  read  a  little  in  that. 

I  am  afraid  I  am  not  much  like  him.  Then  I 
knelt  down  and  tried  to  pray.  But  my  mind  was 
full  of  all  sorts  of  things,  so  I  thought  I  would  wait 
till  I  was  in  a  better  frame.  At  noon  I  disputed 
with  James  about  the  name  of  an  apple.  He  was 
very  provoking,  and  said  he  was  thankful  he  had 
not  got  such  a  temper  as  I  had.  I  cried,  and 
mother  reproved  him  for  teasing  me,  saying  my  ill- 
ness had  left  me  nervous  and  irritable.  James 
replied  that  it  had  left  me  where  it  found  me,  then. 
I  cried  a  good  while,  lying  on  the  sofa,  and  then  I 
fell  asleep.  I  don't  see  as  I  am  any  the  better  for 
this  Sunday,  it  has  only  made  me  feel  unhappy  and 
out  of  sorts.  I  am  sure  I  pray  to  God  to  make  me 
better,  and  why  don't  He? 

Feb.  20. — It  has  been  quite  a  mild  day  for  the 
season,  and  the  doctor  said  I  might  drive  out.  I 
enjoyed  getting  the  air  very  much.     I  feel  just  as 


Stepping  Heavenward  g 

well  as  ever,  and  long  to  get  back  to  school.  I 
think  God  has  been  very  good  to  me  in  making  me 
well  again,  and  wish  I  loved  Him  better.  But,  oh, 
I  am  not  sure  I  do  love  Him  !  I  hate  to  own  it  to 
myself,  and  to  write  it  down  here,  but  I  will.  I  do 
not  love  to  pray.  I  am  always  eager  to  get  it  over 
with  and  out  of  the  way  so  as  to  have  leisure  to 
enjoy  myself.  I  mean  that  this  is  usually  so.  This 
morning  I  cried  a  good  deal  while  I  was  on  my 
knees,  and  felt  sorry  for  my  quick  temper  and  all 
my  bad  ways.  If  I  always  felt  so,  perhaps  praying 
would  not  be  such  a  task.  I  wish  I  knew  whether 
anybody  exactly  as  bad  as  I  am  ever  got  to  heaven 
at  last.  I  have  read  ever  so  many  memoirs,  and 
they  were  all  about  people  who  were  too  good  to 
live,  and  so  died  ;  or  else  went  on  a  mission.  I  am 
not  at  all  like  any  of  them. 

March  26. — I  have  been  so  busy  that  I  have  not 
said  much  to  you,  you  poor  old  journal,  you,  have 
I?  Somehow  I  have  been  behaving  quite  nicely 
lately.  Everything  has  gone  on  exactly  to  my 
mind.  Mother  has  not  found  fault  with  me  once, 
and  father  has  praised  my  drawings  and  seemed 
proud  of  me.  He  says  he  shall  not  tell  me  what 
my  teachers  say  of  me  lest  it  should  make  me  vain. 
And  once  or  twice  when  he  has  met  me  singing  and 
frisking  about  the  house  he  has  kissed  me  and 
called  me  his  dear  little  Flibbertigibbet,  if  that's 
the  way  to  spell  it.  When  he  says  that  I  know  he 
is  very  fond  of  me.  We  are  all  very  happy  together 
when  nothing  goes  wrong.     In    the  long  evenings 


lo  Stepping  Heavenward 

we  all  sit  around  the  table  with  our  books  and  our 
work,  and  one  of  us  reads  aloud.  Mother  chooses 
the  book  and  takes  her  turn  in  reading.  She  reads 
beautifully.  Of  course  the  readings  do  not  begin 
till  the  lessons  are  all  learned.  As  to  me,  my  les- 
sons just  take  no  time  at  all.  I  have  only  to  read 
them  over  once,  and  there  they  are.  So  I  have  a 
good  deal  of  time  to  read,  and  I  devour  all  the 
poetry  I  can  get  hold  of.  I  would  rather  read 
"PoUok's  Course  of  Time"  than  read  nothing  at 
all. 

April  2. — There  are  three  of  mother's  friends  liv- 
ing near  us,  each  having  lots  of  little  children.  It 
is  perfectly  ridiculous  how  much  those  creatures 
are  sick.  They  send  for  mother  if  so  much  as  a 
pimple  comes  out  on  one  of  their  faces.  When  I 
have  children  I  don't  mean  to  have  such  goings  on. 
I  shall  be  careful  about  what  they  eat,  and  keep 
them  from  getting  cold,  and  they  will  keep  well  of 
their  own  accord.  Mrs.  Jones  has  just  sent  for 
mother  to  see  her  Tommy.  It  was  so  provoking. 
I  had  coaxed  her  into  letting  me  have  a  black  silk 
apron  ;  they  are  all  the  fashion  now,  embroidered 
in  floss  silk.  I  had  drawn  a  lovely  vine  for  mine 
entirely  out  of  my  own  head,  and  mother  was  going 
to  arrange  the  pattern  for  me  when  that  message 
came,  and  she  had  to  go.  I  don't  believe  anything 
ails  the  child  !  a  great  chubby  thing  ! 

April  3. — Poor  Mrs.  Jones !  Her  dear  little 
Tommy  is  dead  J     I  stayed    at    home  from  school 


Stepping  Heavenward  1 1 

to-day  and  had  all  the  other  children  here  to  get 
them  out  of  their  mother's  way.  How  dreadfully 
she  must  feel !  Mother  cried  when  she  told  me  how 
the  dear  little  fellow  suffered  in  his  last  moments. 
It  reminded  her  of  my  little  brothers  who  died  in 
the  same  way,  just  before  I  was  born.  Dear  mother  ! 
I  wonder  I  ever  forget  what  troubles  she  has  had, 
and  am  not  always  sweet  and  loving.  She  has  gone 
now,  where  she  always  goes  when  she  feels  sad, 
straight  to  God.  Of  course  she  did  not  say  so,  but 
I  know  mother. 

April  25. — I  have  not  been  down  in  season  once 
this  week.  I  have  persuaded  mother  to  let  me  read 
some  of  Scott's  novels,  and  have  sat  up  late  and 
been  sleepy  in  the  morning.  I  wish  I  could  get 
along  with  mother  as  nicely  as  James  does.  He  is 
late  far  oftener  than  I  am,  but  he  never  gets  into 
such  scrapes  about  it  as  I  do.  This  is  what  hap- 
pens.    He  comes  down  when  it  suits  him. 

Mother  begins. — "  James,  I  am  very  much  dis- 
pleased with  you." 

James, — "  I  should  think  you  would  be,  mother." 

Mother^  mollified. — "^  I  don't  think  you  deserve 
any  breakfast." 

James,  hypocritically. — "  No,  I  don't  think  I  do, 
mother." 

Then  mother  hurries  off  and  gets  something  extra 
for  his  breakfast.  Now  let  us  see  how  things  go  on 
when  I  am  late. 

Mother. — "  Katherine  "  (she  always  calls  me  Kath- 
erine  when   she  is  displeased,  and  spells  it  with  a 


12  Stepping  Heavenward 

K),  "  Katherine,  you  are  late  again  ;  how  can  you 
annoy  your  father  so?" 

Katherine. — ^'  Of  course  I  don't  do  it  to  annoy 
father  or  anybody  else.  But  if  I  oversleep  myself, 
it  is  not  my  fault/' 

Mother, — "I  would  go  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock 
rather  than  be  late  as  often  as  you.  How  should 
you  like  it  if  I  were  not  down  to  prayers  ? " 

Katherine,  muttering. — "  Of  course  that  is  very 
different.  I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  blamed  for 
oversleeping  any  more  than  James.  I  get  all  the 
scoldings," 

Mother  sighs  and  goes  off. 

I  prowl  round  and  get  what  scraps  of  breakfast  I 
can. 

May  12. — The  weather  is  getting  perfectly  deli- 
cious. I  am  sitting  with  my  window  open,  and  my 
bird  is  singing  with  all  his  heart.  I  wish  I  was  as 
gay  as  he  is. 

I  have  been  thinking  lately  that  it  was  about  time 
to  begin  on  some  of  those  pieces  of  self-denial  I  re- 
solved on  upon  my  birthday.  I  could  not  think  of 
anything  great  enough  for  a  long  time.  At  last  an 
idea  popped  into  my  head.  Half  the  girls  at  school 
envy  me  because  Amelia  is  so  fond  of  me,  and  Jane 
Underhill,  in  particular,  is  just  crazy  to  get  intimate 
with  her.  But  I  have  kept  Amelia  all  to  myself. 
To-day  I  said  to  her,  Amelia,  Jane  Underhill  admires 
you  above  all  things.  I  have  a  good  mind  to  let 
you  be  as  intimate  w^ith  her  as  you  are  with  me.  It 
will  be  a  great  piece  of  self-denial,  but  I  think  it  is 


Stepping  Heavenward  13 

my  duty.  She  is  a  stranger,  and  nobody  seems  to 
like  her  much." 

"  You  dear  thing,  you  !  "  cried  Amelia,  kissing  me. 
"  I  liked  Jane  Underhill  the  moment  I  saw  her.  She 
has  such  a  sweet  face  and  such  pleasant  manners. 
But  you  are  so  jealous  that  I  never  dared  to  show 
how  I  liked  her.  Don't  be  vexed,  dearie  ;  if  you 
are  jealous  it  is  your  only  fault ! " 

She  then  rushed  off,  and  I  saw  her  kiss  that  girl 
exactly  as  she  kisses  me  ! 

This  was  in  recess.  I  went  to  my  desk  and  made 
believe  I  was  studying.  Pretty  soon  Amelia  came 
back. 

'^  She  is  a  sweet  girl,"  she  said,  "and  only  to 
think  !  She  writes  poetry  !  Just  hear  this  !  It  is  a 
little  poem  addressed  to  me.     Isn't  it  nice  of  her?" 

I  pretended  not  to  he  ar  her.  I  was  as  full  of  all 
sorts  of  horrid  feelings  as  I  could  hold.  It  enraged 
me  to  think  that  Amelia,  after  all  her  professions  of 
love  to  me,  should  snatch  at  the  first  chance  of  get- 
ting a  new  friend.  Then  I  was  mortified  because  I 
was  enraged,  and  I  could  have  torn  myself  to  pieces 
for  being  such  a  fool  as  to  let  Amelia  see  how  silly 
I  was. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  you,  Katy,"  she 
said,  putting  her  arms  round  me.  "  Have  I  done 
anything  to  vex  you  ?  Come,  let  us  make  up  and 
be  friends,  whatever  it  is.  I  will  read  you  these 
sweet  verses  ;  I  am  sure  you  will  like  them." 

She  read  them  in  her  clear,  pleasant  voice. 

"  How  can  you  have  the  vanity  to  read  such  stuff  ?" 
I  cried. 


14  Stepping  Heavenward 

Amelia  colored  a  little. 

"You  have  said  and  written  much  more  flattering 
things  to  me,"  she  replied.  "  Perhaps  it  has  turned 
my  head,  and  made  me  too  ready  to  believe  what 
other  people  say."  She  folded  the  paper,  and  put 
it  into  her  pocket.  We  walked  home  together,  after 
school,  as  usual,  but  neither  of  us  spoke  a  word. 
And  now  here  I  sit,  unhappy  enough.  All  my  reso- 
lutions fail.  But  I  did  not  think  Amelia  would  take 
me  at  my  word,  and  rush  after  that  stuck-up,  smirk- 
ing piece  ! 

May  20. — I  seem  to  have  got  back  into  all  my  bad 
ways  again.  Mother  is  quite  out  of  patience  with  me. 
I  have  not  prayed  for  a  long  time.  It  does  not  do 
any  good. 

May  21. — It  seems  this  Underhill  thing  is  here  for 
health,  though  she  looks  as  well  as  any  of  us.  She 
is  an  orphan,  and  has  been  adopted  by  a  rich  old 
uncle,  who  makes  a  perfect  fool  of  her.  Such 
dresses  and  such  finery  as  she  wears  !  Last  night 
she  had  Amelia  there  to  tea,  without  inviting  me, 
though  she  knows  I  am  her  best  friend.  She  gave 
her  a  bracelet  made  of  her  own  hair.  I  wonder 
Amelia's  mother  lets  her  accept  presents  from 
strangers.  My  mother  would  not  let  me.  On  the 
whole,  there  is  nobody  like  one's  own  mother. 
Amelia  has  been  cold  and  distant  to  me  of  late,  but 
no  matter  what  I  do  or  say  to  my  darling,  precious 
mother,  she  is  always  kind  and  loving.  She  noticed 
how  I  moped  about  to-day,  and  begged  me  to  tell 


Stepping  Heavenwm^d  15 

her  what  was  the  matter.  I  was  ashamed  to  do 
that.  I  told  her  that  it  was  a  little  quarrel  I  had 
had  with  Amelia. 

*'  Dear  child,"  she  said,  "  how  I  pity  you  that  you 
have  inherited  my  quick,  irritable  temper." 

"  Yours,  mother  1  "  I  cried  out ;  ''  what  can  you 
mean  ?" 

Mother  smiled  a  little  at  my  surprise. 

"  It  is  even  so,"  she  said. 

**  Then  how  did  you  cure  yourself  of  it  ?  Tell  me 
quick,  mother,  and  let  me  cure  myself  of  mine." 

"  My  dear  Katy,"  she  said,  "  I  wish  I  could  make 
you  see  that  God  is  just  as  willing,  and  just  as  able 
to  sanctify,  as  He  is  to  redeem  us.  It  would  save 
yau  so  much  weary,  disappointing  work.  But  God 
has  opened  my  eyes  at  last." 

"I  wish  He  would  open  mine,  then,"  I  said,  "for 
all  I  see  now  is  that  I  am  just  as  horrid  as  I  can  be, 
and  that  the  more  I  pray  the  worse  I  grow." 

'^  That  is  not  true,  dear,"  she  replied;  ''  go  on  pray- 
ing— pray  without  ceasing." 

I  sat  pulling  my  handkerchief  this  way  and  that, 
and  at  last  rolled  it  up  into  a  ball  and  threw  it 
across  the  room..  I  wished  I  could  toss  my  bad  feel- 
ings into  a  corner  with  it. 

*^I  do  wish  I  could  make  you  love  to  pray,  my 
darling  child,"  mother  went  on.  "  If  you  only  knew 
the  strength,  and  the  light,  and  the  joy  you  might 
have  for  the  simple  asking.  God  attaches  no  condi- 
tions to  His  gifts.     He  only  says,  ''  Ask  !'  " 

"  This  may  be  true,  but  it  is  hard  work  to  pray. 
It   tires   me.     And  I  do  wish  there  was  some  easy 


1 6  Steppijig  Heavenward 

way  of  growing  good.  In  fact  I  should  like  to  have 
God  send  a  sweet  temper  to  me  just  as  He  sent 
bread  and  meat  to  Elijah.  I  don't  believe  Elijah 
had  to  kneel  down  and  pray  for  them. 


II. 

June  i. 
Last  Sunday  Dr.  Cabot  preached  to  the  young. 
He  first  addressed  those  who  hiew  they  did  not  love 
God.  It  did  not  seem  to  me  that  I  belonged  to  that 
class.  Then  he  spoke  to  those  who  knew  they  did. 
I  felt  sure  I  was  not  one  of  those.  Last  of  all  he 
spoke  affectionately  to  those  who  did  not  know  what 
to  think,  and  I  was  frightened  and  ashamed  to  feel 
tears  running  down  my  cheeks,  when  he  said  that 
he  believed  that  most  of  his  hearers  who  were  in 
this  doubtful  state  did  really  love  their  Master,  only 
their  love  was  something  as  new  and  as  tender  and 
perhaps  as  unobserved  as  the  tiny  point  of  green 
that,  forcing  its  way  through  the  earth,  is  yet  un- 
conscious of  its  own  existence,  but  promises  a  thrifty 
plant.  I  don't  suppose  T  express  it  very  well,  but  I 
know  what  he  meant.  He  then  invited  those  belong- 
ing to  each  class  to  meet  him  on  three  successive 
Saturday  afternoons.     I  shall  certainly  go. 

July  19. — I  went  to  the  meeting,  and  so  did  Ame- 
lia. A  great  many  young  people  were  there  and  a 
few  children.  Dr.  Cabot  went  about  from  seat  to 
seat,  speaking  to  each  one  separately.  When  he 
came  to  us  I  expected  he  would  say  something 
about  the  way  in  which  I  had  been  brought  up,  and 

(17) 


1 8  Stepping  Heavenward 

reproach  me  for  not  profiting  more  by  the  instruc- 
tions and  example  I  had  at  home.  Instead  of  that 
he  said,  in  a  cheerful  voice, 

^^  Well,  my  dear,  I  cannot  see  into  your  heart  and 
positively  tell  whether  there  is  love  to  God  there  or 
not.  But  I  suppose  you  have  come  here  to-day  in 
order  to  let  me  help  you  to  find  out  ? " 

I  said,  *'  Yes  '* ;  that  was  all  I  could  get  out. 

■**  Let  me  see,  then,"  he  went  on.  "  Do  you  love 
your  mother?'* 

I  said  "Yes,"  once  more. 

"  But  prove  to  me  that  you  do.  How  do  you 
know  it  ?  " 

I  tried  to  think.     Then  I  said, 

"  I  feel  that  I  love  her.  I  love  to  love  her,  I  like 
to  be  with  her.  I  like  to  hear  people  praise  her. 
And  I  try — sometimes  at  least — to  do  things  to 
please  her.  But  I  don't  try  half  as  hard  as  I  ought, 
and  I  do  and  say  a  great  many  things  to  displease 
her." 

**  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  "I  know." 

''  Has  mother  told  you  ? "  I  cried  out. 

"  No,  dear,  no  indeed.  But  I  know  what  human 
nature  is  after  having  one  of  my  own  fifty  years,  and 
six  of  my  children's  to  encounter." 

Somehow  I  felt  more  courage  after  he  said  that. 

'^  In  the  first  place,  then,  you  feel  that  you  love 
your  mother  ?  But  you  never  feel  that  you  love 
your  God  and  Saviour  ?" 

"  I  often  try,  and  try,  but  I  never  do,"  I  said. 

"  Love  won't  be  forced,"  he  said,  quickly. 

"  Then  what  shall  I  do  ?" 


Stepping  Heavenward  19 

'*  In  the  second  place,  you  like  to  be  with  your 
mother.  But  you  never  like  to  be  with  the  Friend 
who  loves  you  so  much  better  than  she  does  ?'' 

"  I  don't  know,  I  never  was  with  Him.  Sometimes 
I  think  that  when  Mary  sat  at  His  feet  and  heard 
Him  talk,  she  must  have  been  very  happy." 

"  We  come  to  the  third  test,  then.  You  like  tc 
hear  people  praise  your  mother.  And  have  you 
never  rejoiced  to  hear  the  Lord  magnified  V 

I  shook  my  head  sorrowfully  enough. 

"  Let  us  then  try  the  last  test.  You  know  you 
love  your  mother  because  you  try  to  do  things  to 
please  her.  That  is  to  do  what  you  know  she  wishes 
you  to  do  ?  Very  well.  Have  you  never  tried  to  do 
aaything  God  wishes  you  to  do  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  ;  often.     But  not  so  often  as  I  ought." 

*' Of  course  not.  No  one  does  that.  But  come 
now,  why  do  you  try  to  do  what  you  think  will 
please  Him  ?  Because  it  is  easy  ?  Because  you  like 
to  do  what  He  likes  rather  than  what  you  like  your- 
self?" 

I  tried  to  think,  and  got  puzzled. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Dr.  Cabot,  "  I  have  come  now 
to  the  point  I  was  aiming  at.  You  cannot  prove  to 
yourself  that  you  love  God  by  examining  your  feel- 
ings towards  Him.  They  are  indefinite  and  they 
fluctuate.  But  just  as  far  as  you  obey  Him,  just  so 
far,  depend  upon  it,  you  love  Him.  It  is  not  natural 
to  us  sinful,  ungrateful  human  beings  to  prefer  His 
pleasure  to  our  own,  or  to  follow  His  way  instead  of 
our  own  way,  and  nothing,  nothing  but  love  to  Him 
can  or  does  make  us  obedient  to  Him." 


20  Stepping  Heavenward 

"  Couldn't  we  obey  Him  from  fear  ?"  Amelia  now 
asked.  She  had  been  listening  all  this  time  in  si- 
lence. 

"  Yes  ;  and  so  you  might  obey  your  mother  from 
fear,  but  only  for  a  season.  If  you  had  no  real  love 
for  her,  you  would  gradually  cease  to  dread  her  dis- 
pleasure ;  whereas  it  is  in  the  very  nature  of  love  to 
grow  stronger  and  more  influential  every  hour." 

"You  mean,  then,  that  if  we  want  to  know 
whether  we  love  God,  we  must  find  out  whether  we 
are  obeying  Him  ?"  Amelia  asked. 

"  I  mean  exactly  that.  ^  He  that  keepeth  my  com- 
mandments he  it  is  that  loveth  me.'  But  I  cannot 
talk  with  you  any  longer  now.  There  are  many 
others  still  waiting.  You  can  come  to  see  me  some 
day  next  week,  if  you  have  any  more  questions  to 
ask." 

When  we  got  out  into  the  street,  Amelia  and  I 
got  hold  of  each  other's  hands.  We  did  not  speak 
a  word  till  we  reached  the  door,  but  we  knew  that 
we  were  as  good  friends  as  ever. 

"  I  understand  all  Dr.  Cabot  said,"  Amelia  whis- 
pered, as  we  separated.  But  I  felt  like  one  in  a  fog. 
I  cannot  see  how  it  is  possible  to  love  God,  and  yet 
feel  as  stupid  as  I  do  v/hen  I  think  of  Him.  Still,  I 
am  determined  to  do  one  thing,  and  that  is  to  pray 
regularly  instead  of  now  and  then,  as  I  have  got  the 
habit  of  doing  lately. 

July  25. — School  has  closed  for  the  season.  I 
took  the  first  prize  for  drawing,  and  my  composition 
was  read  aloud  on  examination  day,  and  everybody 


Stepping  Heavenward  21 

praised  it.  Mother  could  not  possibly  help  show- 
ing, in  her  face,  that  she  was  very  much  pleased.  I 
am  pleased  myself.  We  are  now  getting  ready  to 
take  a  journey.  I  do  not  think  I  shall  go  to  see  Dr. 
Cabot  again.  My  head  is  so  full  of  other  things, 
and  there  is  so  much  to  do  before  we  go.  I  am  hav- 
ing four  new  dresses  made,  and  I  can't  imagine  how 
to  have  them  trimmed.  I  mean  to  run  down  to 
Amelia's  and  ask  her. 

July  27. — T  was  rushing  through  the  hall  just  after 
I  wrote  that,  and  met  mother. 

'''  I  am  going  to  Amelia's,"  I  said,  hurrying  past  her. 

'*  Stop  one  minute,  dear.  Dr.  Cabot  is  downstairs. 
He  says  he  has  been  expecting  a  visit  from  you,  and 
that  as  you  did  not  come  to  him,  he  has  come  to 
you." 

"I  wish  he  would  mind  his  own   business,"  I  said. 

"  I  think  he  is  minding  it,  dear,"  mother  answered. 
''  His  Master's  business  is  his,  and  that  has  brought 
him  here.  Go  to  him,  my  darling  child  ;  I  am  sure 
you  crave  something  better  than  prizes  and  compli- 
ments and  new  dresses  and  journeys." 

If  anybody  but  mother  had  said  that,  my  heart 
would  have  melted  at  once,  and  I  should  have  gone 
right  down  to  Dr.  Cabot  to  be  moulded  in  his  hands 
to  almost  any  shape.  But  as  it  was  I  brushed  past 
her,  ran  into  my  room,  and  locked  my  door.  Oh, 
what  makes  me  act  so  !  I  hate  myself  for  it,  I  don't 
want  to  do  it  ! 

Last  week  I  dined  with  Mrs.  Jones.  Her  little 
Tommy  was  very  fond  of   me,  and   that,  I   suppose, 


2  2  Steppifig  Heavenzvard 

makes  her  have  me  there  so  often.  Lucy  was  at  the 
table,  and  very  fractious.  She  cried  first  for  one 
thing  and  then  for  another.  At  last  her  mother  in 
a  gentle,  but  very  decided  way  put  her  down  from 
the  table.  Then  she  cried  louder  than  ever.  But 
when  her  mother  offered  to  take  her  back  if  she 
would  be  good,  she  screamed  yet  more.  She  wanted 
to  come  and  wouldnt  let  herself  co77ie,  I  almost 
hated  her  when  I  saw  her  act  so,  and  now  I  am  be- 
having ten  times  worse  and  I  am  just  as  miserable 
as  I  can  be. 

July  29. — Amelia  has  been  here.  She  has  had  an- 
other talk  with  Dr.  Cabot  and  is  perfectly  happy. 
She  says  it  is  so  easy  to  be  a  Christian  !  It  may  be 
easy  for  her  ;  everything  is.  She  never  has  any  of 
my  dreadful  feelings,  and  does  not  understand  them 
when  I  try  to  explain  them  to  her.  Well,  if  I  am 
fated  to  be  miserable,  I  must  try  to  bear  it. 

Oct.  3. — Summer  is  over,  school  has  begun  again, 
and  I  am  so  busy  that  I  have  not  much  tim.e  to  think, 
or  to  be  low  spirited.  We  had  a  delightful  journey, 
and  I  feel  well  and  bright,  and  even  gay.  I  never 
enjoyed  my  studies  as  I  do  those  of  this  year.  Every- 
thinof  goes  on  pleasantly  here  at  home.  But  James 
has  gone  away  to  school,  and  we  miss  him  sadly.  I 
do  wish  I  had  a  sister.  Though  I  dare  say  I  should 
quarrel  with  her,  if  I  had. 

Oct.  23. — I  am  so  glad  that  my  studies  are  harder 
this  year,  as   I   am  never  happy  except  when  every 


Stepping  Heavenward  23 

moment  is  occupied.  However,  I  do  not  study  all 
the  time,  by  any  means.  Mrs.  Gordon  grows  more 
and  more  fond  of  me,  and  has  me  there  to  dinner  or 
to  tea  continually.  She  has  a  much  higher  opinion  of 
me  than  mother  has,  and  is  always  saying  the  sort 
of  things  that  make  you  feel  nice.  She  holds  me  up 
to  Amelia  as  an  example,  begging  her  to  imitate  me 
in  my  fidelity  about  my  lessons,  and  declaring  there 
is  nothing  she  so  much  desires  as  to  have  a  daughter 
bright  and  original  like  me.  Amelia  only  laughs, 
and  goes  and  purrs  in  her  mother's  ears,  when  she 
hears  such  talk.  It  costs  her  nothing  to  be  pleas- 
ant. She  was  born  so.  For  my  part,  I  think  my- 
self lucky  to  have  such  a  friend.  She  gets  along 
with  my  odd,  hateful  ways  better  than  any  one  else 
does.  Mother,  when  I  boast  of  this,  says  she  has  no 
penetration  into  character,  and  that  she  would  be 
fond  of  almost  any  one  fond  of  her  ;  and  that  the 
fury  with  which  I  love  her  deserves  some  response. 
I  really  don't  know  what  to  make  of  mother.  Most 
people  are  proud  of  their  children  when  they  see 
others  admire  them  ;  but  she  does  say  such  pokey 
things  !  Of  course  I  know  that  having  a  gift  for 
music,  and  a  taste  for  drawing,  and  a  reputation  for 
saying  witty,  bright  things  isn't  enough.  But  when 
she  doesn't  find  fault  with  me,  and  nothing  happens 
to  keep  me  down,  I  am  the  gayest  creature  on  earth. 
I  do  love  to  get  with  a  lot  of  nice  girls,  and  carry 
on  !  I  have  got  enough  fun  in  me  to  keep  a  house- 
ful merry.  And  mother  needn't  say  anything,  I  in- 
herited it  from  her. 


24  Stepping  Heavenward 

Evening. — I  knew  it  was  coming  !  Mother  has 
been  in  to  see  what  I  was  about,  and  to  give  me  a 
bit  of  her  mind.  She  says  she  loves  to  see  me  gay 
and  cheerful,  as  is  natural  at  my  age,  but  that  levity 
quite  upsets  and  disorders  the  mind,  indisposing  it 
for  serious  thoughts. 

"But,  mother,"  I  said,  "didn't  you  carry  on  when 
you  were  a  young  girl  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  she  said,  smiling.  "  But  I  do 
not  think  I  was  quite  so  thoughtless  as  you  are." 

"  Thoughtless  "  indeed  !  I  wish  I  were  !  But  am 
1  not  always  full  of  uneasy,  reproachful  thoughts 
when  the  moment  of  excitement  is  over?  Other 
girls,  who  seem  less  trifling  than  I,  are  really  more 
so.  Their  heads  are  full  of  dresses  and  parties  and 
beaux,  and  all  that  sort  of  nonsense.  I  wonder  if 
that  ever  worries  their  mothers,  or  whether  mine  is 
the  only  one  who  weeps  in  secret  ?  Well,  I  shall  be 
young  but  once,  and  while  I  am,  do  let  me  have  a 
good  time  ! 

Sunday,  Nov.  20. — Oh,  the  difference  between  this 
day  and  the  day  I  wrote  that  !  There  are  no  good 
times  in  this  dreadful  world.  I  have  hardly  courage 
or  strength  to  write  down  the  history  of  the  past  few 
weeks.  The  day  after  I  had  deliberately  made  up  my 
mind  to  enjoy  myself,  cost  what  it  might,  my  dear 
father  called  me  to  him,  kissed  me,  pulled  my  ears  a 
little,  and  gave  me  some  money. 

"  We  have  had  to  keep  you  rather  low  in  funds,"  he 
said  laughing.  "But  I  recovered  this  amount  yes- 
terday, and  as  it  was  a  little  debt  I  had  given  up,  I 


Stepping  Heavenward  25 

can  spare  it  to  you.  For  girls  like  pin-money,  I 
know,  and  you  may  spend  this  just  as  you  please/' 

1  was  delighted.  I  want  to  take  more  drawing- 
lessons,  but  did  not  feel  sure  he  could  afford  it.  Be- 
sides— I  am  a  little  ashamed  to  write  it  down — I 
knew  somebody  had  been  praising  me  or  father 
would  not  have  seemed  so  fond  of  me.  I  wondered 
who  it  was,  and  felt  a  good  deal  puffed  up.  *'  After 
all,"  I  said  to  myself,  " so?ne  people  like  me  if  I  have 
got  my  faults."  I  threw  my  arms  around  his  neck 
and  kissed  him,  though  that  cost  me  a  great  effort. 
I  never  like  to  show  what  I  feel.  But,  oh !  how 
thankful  I  am  for  it  now. 

As  to  mother,  I  know  father  never  goes  out  with- 
out kissing  her  good-bye. 

I  went  out  with  her  to  take  a  v/alk  at  three  o'clock. 
We  had  just  reached  the  corner  of  Orange  Street, 
when  I  saw  a  carriage  driving  slowly  towards  us  ;  it 
appeared  to  be  full  of  sailors.  Then  I  saw  our 
friend,  Mr.  Freeman,  among  them.  When  he  saw 
us  he  jumped  out  and  came  up  to  us.  I  do  not 
know  what  he  said.  I  saw  mother  turn  pale  and 
catch  at  his  arm  as  if  she  were  afraid  of  falling.  But 
she  did  not  speak  a  word. 

'*  Oh  !  Mr.  Freeman,  what  is  it  ? "  I  cried  out. 
"Has  anything  happened  to  father?  Is  he  hurt? 
Where  is  he  ?  " 

*^  He  is  in  the  carriage,"  he  said.  We  are  taking 
him  home.     He  has  had  a  fall." 

Then  we  went  on  in  silence.  The  sailors  were 
carrying  father  in  as  we  reached  the  house.  They 
laid  him  on  the  sofa,  and  we  saw  his  poor  head — 


26  Stepping  Heavenward 

Nov.  23. — I  will  try  to  write  the  rest  now.  Father 
was  alive  but  insensible.  He  had  fallen  down  into 
the  hold  of  the  ship,  and  the  sailors  heard  him 
groaning  there.  He  lived  three  hours  after  they 
brought  him  home.  Mr.  Freeman  and  all  our  friends 
were  very  kind.  But  we  like  best  to  be  alone,  we 
three,  mother  and  James  and  I.  Poor  mother  looks 
twenty  years  older,  but  she  is  so  patient,  and  so  con- 
cerned for  us,  and  has  such  a  smile  of  welcome  for 
every  one  that  comes  in,  that  it  breaks  my  heart  to 
see  her. 

Nov.  25. — Mother  spoke  to  me  very  seriously 
to-day,  about  controlling  myself  more.  She  said 
she  knew  this  was  my  first  real  sorrow,  and  how 
hard  it  was  to  bear  it.  But  that  she  was  afraid  I 
should  become  insane  some  time,  if  I  indulged  my- 
self in  such  passions  of  grief.  And  she  said,  too, 
that  when  friends  came  to  see  us,  full  of  sympathy 
and  eager  to  say  or  do  something  for  our  comfort, 
it  was  our  duty  to  receive  them  with  as  much  cheer- 
fulness as  possible. 

I  said  they,  none  of  them,  had  anything  to  say 
that  did  not  provoke  me. 

"It  is  always  a  trying  task  to  visit  the  afflicted," 
mother  said,  "  and  you  make  it  doubly  hard  to  your 
friends  by  putting  on  a  gloomy,  forbidding  air,  and 
by  refusing  to  talk  of  your  dear  father,  as  if  you 
were  resolved  to  keep  your  sorrow  all  to  yourself." 

"I  can't  smile  when  I  am  so  unhappy,"  I  said. 

A  good  many  people  have  been  here  to-day. 
Mother  has  seen  them  all,  though   she  looked  ready 


Stepping  Heavenward  27 

to  drop.  Mrs.  Bates  said  to  me,  in  her  little,  weak, 
watery  voice  : 

"Your  mother  is  wonderfully  sustained,  dear.  I 
hope  you  feel  reconciled  to  God's  will.  Rebellion 
is  most  displeasing  to  Him,  dear." 

I  made  no  answer.  It  is  very  easy  for  people  to 
preach.  Let  me  see  how  they  behave  when  they 
take  their  turn  to  lose  their  friends. 

Mrs.  Morris  said  this  was  a  very  mysterious  dis- 
pensation. But  that  she  was  happy  to  see  that 
mother  was  meeting  it  with  so  much  firmness.  "As 
for  myself,"  she  went  on,  "  I  was  quite  broken  down 
by  my  dear  husband's  death.  I  did  not  eat  as  much 
as  would  feed  a  bird,  for  nearly  a  week.  But  some 
people  have  so  much  feeling  ;  then  again  others  are 
so  firm.  Your  mother  is  so  busy  talking  with  Mrs. 
March  that  I  won't  interrupt  her  to  say  good-bye. 
Well,  I  came  prepared  to  suggest  several  things  that 
I  thought  would  comfort  her,  but  perhaps  she  has 
thought  of  them  herself." 

I  could  have  knocked  her  down.  Firm,  indeed  ! 
poor  mother. 

After  they  had  all  gone,  I  made  her  lie  down,  she 
looked  so  tired  and  worn  out. 

Then  I  could  not  help  telling  her  what  Mrs.  Mor- 
ris had  said. 

She  only  smiled  a  little,  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  wish  you  would  ever  flare  up,  mother,"  I  said. 

She  smiled  again,  and  said  she  had  nothing  to 
"  flare  up  "  about. 

"  Then  I  shall  do  it  for  you  !  "  I  cried.  "  To  hear 
that  namby-pamby  woman,  who  is  about  as  capable 


28  Stepping  Heavenward 

of  understanding  you  as  an  old  cat,  talking  about 
your  being  firm  !  You  see  what  you  get  by  being 
quiet  and  patient !  People  would  like  you  much 
better  if  you  refused  to  be  comforted,  and  wore  a 
sad  countenance." 

"Dear  Katy/'  said  mother,  "it  is  not  my  first  ob- 
ject in  life  to  make  people  like  me." 

By  this  time  she  looked  so  pale  that  I  was  fright- 
ened. Though  she  is  so  cheerful,  and  things  go  on 
much  as  they  did  before,  I  believe  she  has  got  her 
death-blow.  If  she  has,  then  I  hope  I  have  got 
mine.  And  yet  I  am  not  fit  to  die.  I  wish  I  was, 
and  I  wish  I  could  die.  I  have  lost  all  interest  in 
everything,  and  don't  care  what  becomes  of  me. 

Nov.  23. — I  believe  I  shall  go  crazy  unless  people 
stop  coming  here,  hurling  volleys  of  texts  at  mother 
and  at  me.  When  soldiers  drop  wounded  on  the 
battle-field,  they  are  taken  up  tenderly  and  carried 
"to  the  rear,"  which  means,  I  suppose,  out  of  sight 
and  sound.  Is  anybody  mad  enough  to  suppose  it 
will  do  them  any  good  to  hear  Scripture  quoted — 
sermons  launched  at  them  before  their  open,  bleed- 
ing wounds  are  staunched  ? 

Mother  assents,  in  a  mild  way,  when  I  talk  so  and 
says,  "  Yes,  yes,  we  are  indeed  lying  wounded  on 
the  battle-field  of  life,  and  in  no  condition  to  listen 
to  any  words  save  those  of  pity.  But,  dear  Katy, 
we  must  interpret  aright  all  the  well-meant  attempts 
of  our  friends  to  comfort  us.  They  mean  sympathy, 
however  awkwardly  they  express  it." 


Stepping  Heavenward  29 

And  then  she  sighed,  with  a  long,  deep  sigh,  that 
told  how  it  all  wearied  her. 


Dec.  14. — Mother  keeps  saying  I  spend  too  much 
time  in  brooding  over  my  sorrow.  As  for  her,  she 
seems  to  live  in  heaven.  Not  that  she  has  long 
prosy  talks  about  it,  but  little  words  that  she  lets 
drop  now  and  then  show  where  her  thoughts  are, 
and  where  she  would  like  to  be.  She  seems  to  think 
everybody  is  as  eager  to  go  there  as  she  is.  For  my 
part,  I  am  not  eager  at  all.  I  can't  make  myself  feel 
that  it  will  be  nice  to  sit  in  rows,  all  the  time  sing- 
ing, fond  as  I  am  of  music.  And  when  I  say  to  my- 
self, ''  Of  course  we  shall  not  always  sit  in  rows  sing- 
ing," then  I  fancy  a  multitude  of  shadowy,  phantom- 
like beings,  dressed  in  white,  moving  to  and  fro  in 
golden  streets,  doing  nothing  in  particular,  and 
having  a  dreary  time,  without  anything  to  look  for- 
ward to. 

I  told  mother  so.  She  said  earnestly,  and  yet  in 
her  sweetest,  tenderest  way, 

*'  Oh,  my  darling  Katy  !  What  you  need  is  such 
a  living,  personal  love  to  Christ  as  shall  make  the 
thought  of  being  where  He  is  so  delightful  as  to  fill 
your  mind  with  that  single  thought  !" 

What  is  '*  personal  love  to  Christ  ?" 

Oh,  dear,  dear  !  Why  need  my  father  have  been 
snatched  away  from  me,  when  so  many  other  girls 
have  theirs  spared  to  them?  He  loved  me  so  !  He 
indulged  me  so  much  !  He  was  so  proud  of  me  ! 
What,  have  I  done  that  I  should  have  this  dreadful 
thing  happen  to  me  ?     I  shall  never  be  as  happy  as 


30  Stepping  Heavenward 

I  was  before.  Now  I  shall  always  be  expecting 
trouble.  Yes,  I  dare  say  mother  will  go  next.  Why 
shouldn't  I  brood  over  this  sorrow  ?  I  like  to  brood 
over  it ;  I  like  to  think  how  wretched  I  am  ;  I  like 
to  have  long,  furious  fits  of  crying,  lying  on  my  face 
on  the  bed. 

Jan.  I,  1832. — People  talk  a  great  deal  about  the 
blessed  effects  of  sorrow.  But  I  do  not  see  any  good 
it  has  done  me  to  lose  my  dear  father,  and  as  to 
mother  she  was  good  enough  before. 

We  are  going  to  leave  our  pleasant  home,  where 
all  of  us  children  were  born,  and  move  into  a  house 
in  an  out-of-the-way  street.  By  selling  this,  and 
renting  a  smaller  one,  mother  hopes,  with  economy, 
to  carry  James  through  college.  And  I  must  go  to 
Miss  Higgins'  school  because  it  is  less  expensive 
than  Mr.  Stone's.  Miss  Higgins,  indeed  !  I  never 
could  bear  her  !  A  few  months  ago,  how  I  should 
have  cried  and  stormed  at  the  idea  of  her  school. 
But  the  great  sorrow  swallows  up  the  little  trial. 

I  tried  once  more,  this  morning,  as  it  is  the  first 
day  of  the  year,  to  force  myself  to  begin  to  love 
God. 

I  want  to  do  it ;  I  know  I  ought  to  do  it  ;  but  I 
cannot.  I  go  through  the  form  of  saying  something 
that  I  try  to  pass  off  as  praying,  every  day  now. 
But  I  take  no  pleasure  in  it,  as  good  people  say  they 
do,  and  as  I  am  sure  mother  does.  Nobody  could 
live  in  the  house  with  her,  and  doubt  that. 

Jan.  10. — We  are  in  our  new  home  now,  and  it  is 


Stepping  Heavenward  31 

quite  a  cosy  little  place.  James  is  at  home  for  the 
long  vacation  and  we  are  together  all  the  time  I  am 
out  of  school.  We  study  and  sing  together,  and  now 
and  then,  when  we  forget  that  dear  father  has  gone, 
we  are  as  full  of  fun  as  ever.  If  it  is  so  nice  to  have 
a  brother,  what  must  it  be  to  have  a  sister  !  Dear 
old  Jim  !  He  is  the  very  pleasantest,  dearest  fellow 
in  the  world  ! 

Jan.  15. — I  have  come  to  another  birthday,  and 
am  seventeen.  Mother  has  celebrated  it  just  as 
usual,  though  I  know  all  these  anniversaries,  which 
used  to  be  so  pleasant,  must  be  sad  days  to  her, 
now  my  dear  father  has  gone.  She  has  been  cheer- 
ful and  loving,  and  entered  into  all  my  pleasures 
exactly  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  I  wonder  at 
myself  that  I  do  not  enter  more  into  her  sorrows, 
but  though  at  times  the  remembrance  of  our  loss 
overwhelms  me,  my  natural  elasticity  soon  makes 
me  rise  above  and  forget  it.  And  I  am  absorbed 
with  these  school-days,  that  come  one  after  an- 
other, in  such  quick  succession  that  I  am  all  the 
time  running  to  keep  up  with  them.  And  as  long 
as  I  do  that  I  forget  that  death  has  cr.ossed  our 
threshold,  and  may  do  it  again.  But  to-night,  I 
feel  very  sad,  and  as  if  I  would  give  almost  any- 
thing to  live  in  a  world  where  nothing  painful  could 
happen.  Somehow  mother's  pale  face  haunts  and 
reproaches  me.  I  believe  I  will  go  to  bed  and  to 
sleep  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  forget  everything. 


III. 

July  i6. 

My  school-days  are  over  !  I  have  come  off  with 
flying  colors,  and  mother  is  pleased  at  my  success. 
I  said  to  her  to-day  that  I  should  now  have  time  to 
draw  and  practice  to  my  heart's  content. 

"You  will  not  find  your  heart  content  with 
either,"  she  said. 

"  Why,  mother  ! "  I  cried,  "  I  thought  you  liked 
to  see  me  happy  ! '' 

"  And  so  1  do/'  she  said,  quietly.  "  But  there  is 
something  better  to  get  out  of  life  than  you  have 
yet  found." 

"I  am  sure  I  hope  so,"  I  returned.  "On  the 
whole,  I  haven't  got  much  so  far." 

Amelia  is  now  on  such  terms  with  Jenny  Under- 
hill  that  I  can  hardly  see  one  without  seeing  the 
other.  After  the  way  in  which  I  have  loved  her, 
this  seems  rather  hard.  Sometimes  I  am  angry 
about  it,  and  sometimes  grieved.  However,  I  find 
Jenny  quite  nice.  She  buys  all  the  new  books  and 
lends  them  to  me.  I  wish  I  liked  more  solid  read- 
ing ;  but  I  don't.  And  I  v^ish  I  were  not  so  fond  of 
novels  ;  but  I  am.  If  it  were  not  for  mother  I 
should  read  nothing  else.  And  I  am  sure  I  often 
feel  quite  stirred  up  by  a  really  good  novel,  and 
(32) 


Stepping  Heavenwai'd  33 

admire    and    want    to   imitate    every    high-minded, 
noble  character  it  describes. 

Jenny  has  a  miniature  of  her  brother  "  Charley  " 
in  a  locket,  which  she  always  wears,  and  often 
shows  me.  According  to  her,  he  is  exactly  like  the 
heroes  I  most  admire  in  books.  She  says  she  knows 
he  would  like  me  if  we  should  meet.  But  that  is 
not  probable.  Very  few  like  me.  Amelia  says  it  is 
because  I  say  just  what  I  think. 

Wednesday. — Mother  pointed  out  to  me  this 
evening  two  lines  from  a  book  she  was  reading, 
with  a  significant   smile  that  said    they  described 


**  A  frank,  unchastened,  generous  creature, 
Whose  faults  and  virtues  stand  in  bold  relief." 

"  Dear  me  !  "  I  said,  "so  then  I  have  some  virtues 
after  all !  " 

And  I  really  think  I  must  have,  for  Jenny's 
brother,  who  has  come  here  for  the  sake  of  being 
near  her,  seems  to  like  me  very  much.  Nobody 
ever  liked  me  so  much  before,  not  even  Amelia. 
But  how  foolish  to  write  that  down  ! 

Thursday. — Jenny's  brother  has  been  here  all 
the  evening.  He  has  the  most  perfect  manners  I 
ever  saw.  I  am  sure  that  mother,  who  thinks  so 
much  of  such  things,  would  be  charmed  with  him. 
But  she  happened  to  be  out,  Mrs.  Jones  having  sent 
for  her  to  see  about  her  baby.  He  gave  me  an 
account    of   his  mother's    death,  and    how    he  and 


34  Stepping  Heavenward' 

Jenny  nursed  her  day  and  night.  He  has  a  great 
deal  of  feeling.  I  was  going  to  tell  him  about  my 
father's  death,  sorrow  seems  to  bring  people 
together  so,  but  I  could  not.  Oh,  if  he  had  only 
had  a  sickness  that  needed  our  tender  nursing, 
instead  of  being  snatched  from  us  in  that  sudden 
way  ! 

Sunday,  Aug.  5. — Jenny's  brother  has  been  at  our 
church  all  day.  He  walked  home  with  me  this 
afternoon.  Mother,  after  being  up  all  night  with 
Mrs.  Jones  and  her  baby,  was  not  able  to  go  out. 

Dr.  Cabot  preaches  as  if  we  had  all  got  to  die 
pretty  soon,  or  else  have  something  almost  as  bad 
happen  to  us.  How  can  old  people  always  try  to 
make  young  people  feel  uncomfortable,  and  as  if 
things  couldn't  last  ? 

Aug.  25. — Jenny  says  her  brother  is  perfectly  fas- 
cinated with  me,  and  that  I  must  try  to  like  him  in 
return.  I  suppose  mother  would  say  my  head  was 
turned  by  my  good  fortune,  but  it  is  not.  I  am 
getting  quite  sober  and  serious.  It  is  a  great  thing 
to  be — to  be — well — liked.  I  have  seen  some  verses 
of  his  composition  to-day  that  show  that  he  is  all 
heart  and  soul,  and  would  make  any  sacrifice  for 
one  he  loved.  I  could  not  like  a  man  who  did  not 
possess  such  sentiments  as  his. 

Perhaps  mother  would  think  I  ought  not  to  put 
such  things  into  my  journal. 

Jenny  has  thought  of  such  a  splendid  plan  !  What 
a  dear  little  thing  she  is  I     She  and  her  brother  are 


Stepping  Heavenward  35 

so  much  alike  !  The  plan  is  for  us  three  girls, 
Jenny,  Amelia  and  myself,  to  form  ourselves  into  a 
little  class  to  read  and  to  study  together.  She  says 
*'  Charley "  will  direct  our  readings  and  help  us 
with  our  studies.     It  is  perfectly  delightful. 

September  i. — Somehow  I  forgot  to  tell  mother 
that  Mr.  Underhill  was  to  be  our  teacher.  So  when 
it  came  my  turn  to  have  the  class  meet  here,  she 
was  not  quite  pleased.  I  told  her  she  could  stay  in 
the  room  and  watch  us,  and  then  she  would  see  for 
herself  that  we  all  behaved  ourselves. 

Sept.  19. — The  class  met  at  Amelia's  to-night. 
Mother  insisted  on  sending  for  me,  though  Mr. 
Underhill  had  proposed  to  see  me  home  himself. 
So  he  stayed  after  I  left.  It  was  not  quite  the  thing 
in  him,  for  he  must  see  that  Amelia  is  absolutely 
crazy  about  him. 

Sept.  28. — We  met  at  Jenny's  this  evening.  Amelia 
had  a  bad  headache  and  could  not  come.  Jenny 
idled  over  her  lessons,  and  at  last  took  a  book  and 
began  to  read.  I  studied  awhile  with  Mr.  Underhill. 
At  last  he  said,  scribbling  something  on  a  bit  of 
paper  : 

"Here  is  a  sentence  I  hope  you  can  translate." 

I  took  it,  and  read  these  words  : 

"You  are  the  brightest,  prettiest,  most  warm- 
hearted little  thing  in  the  world.  And  I  love  you 
more  than  tongue  can  tell.  You  must  love  me  in 
the  same  way." 


36  Stepping  Heavenward 

I  felt  hot  and  then  cold,  and  then  glad  and  then 
sorry.  But  I  pretended  to  laugh,  and  said  I  could 
not  translate  Greek.  I  shall  have  to  tell  mother, 
and  what  will  she  say  ? 

Sept.  29. — This  morning  mother  began  thus  : 

"  Kate,  I  do  not  like  these  lessons  of  yours.  At 
your  age,  with  your  judgment  quite  unformed,  it  is 
not  proper  that  you  should  spend  so  much  time  with 
a  young  man." 

"Jenny  is  always  there,  and  Amelia,"  I  replied. 

"  That  m.akes  no  difference.  I  wish  the  whole 
thing  stopped.  I  do  not  know  what  I  have  been 
thinking  of  to  let  it  go  on  so  long.  Mrs.  Gordon 
says —  " 

"  Mrs.  Gordon  !  Ha  !  "  I  burst  out,  "  I  knew 
Amelia  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  !  Amelia  is  in  love 
with  him  up  to  her  very  ears,  and  because  he  does 
not  entirely  neglect  me,  she  has  put  her  mother  up 
to  coming  here,  meddling  and  making — " 

"  If  what  you  say  of  Amelia  is  true,  it  is  most  un- 
generous in  you  to  tell  of  it.  But  I  do  not  believe 
it.  Amelia  Gordon  has  too  much  good  sense  to  be 
carried  away  by  a  handsome  face  and  agreeable 
manners." 

I  began  to  cry. 

**  He  likes  me,"  I  got  out,  "he  likes  me  ever  so 
much.  Nobody  ever  was  so  kind  to  me  before. 
Nobody  ever  said  such  nice  things  to  me.  And  I 
don't  want  such  horrid  things  said  about  him." 

"  Has   it  really  come   this  !  "  said   mother,  quite 


Stepping  Heavenward  37 

shocked.  "  Oh,  my  poor  child,  how  my  selfish  sor- 
row has  made  me  neglect  you." 

I  kept  on  crying. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  she  went  on,  "  that  with  your 
good  sense,  and  the  education  you  have  had,  you  are 
captivated  by  this  mere  boy  ?  " 

'^  He  is  not  a  boy,"  I  said.  *^  He  is  a  man.  He  is 
twenty  years  old  ;  or  at  least  he  will  be  on  the  fif- 
teenth of  next  October." 

"  The  child  actually  keeps  his  birthdays  !  "  cried 
mother.     ^'  Oh,  my  wicked,  shameful  carelessness." 

"  It's  done  now,"  I  said,  desperately.  ^^  It  is  too 
late  to  help  it  now." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  he  has  dared  to  say  any- 
thing without  consulting  me  ?  "  asked  mother.  "  And 
that  you  have  allowed  it !     Oh,  Katherine  !  " 

By  this  time  my  mouth  shut  itself  up,  and  no 
mortal  force  could  open  it.  I  stopped  crying,  and 
sat  with  folded  arms.  Mother  said  what  she  had  to 
say,  and  then  I  came  to  you,  my  dear  old  Journal. 

Yes,  he  likes  me  and  I  like  him. 

Come  now,  let's  out  with  it  once  for  all. 

He  loves  me  and  I  love  him. 

You  are  just  a  little  bit  too  late,  mother. 

Oct.  I. — I  never  can  write  down  all  the  things 
that  have  happened.  The  very  day  after  I  wrote 
Jenny  that  mother  had  forbidden  my  going  to  the 
class,  Charley  came  to  see  her,  and  they  had  a  regu- 
lar fight  together.  He  has  told  me  about  it  since. 
Then,  as  he  could  not  prevail,  his  uncle  wrote,  told 
her  it  would  be  the  making  of  Charley  to  be  settled 


38  Stepping  Heavenward 

down  on  one  young  lady  instead  of  hovering  from 
flower  to  flower,  as  he  was  doing  now.  Then  Jenny 
came  with  her  pretty  ways,  and  cried,  and  told 
mother  what  a  darling  brother  Charley  was.  She 
made  a  good  deal,  too,  out  of  his  having  lost  both 
father  and  mother,  and  needing  my  affection  so 
much.  Mother  shut  herself  up,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
prayed  over  it.  I  really  believe  she  prays  over  every 
new  dress  she  buys.  Then  she  sent  for  me  and 
talked  beautifully,  and  I  behaved  abominably. 

At  last  she  said  she  would  put  us  on  one  year's 
probation.  Charley  might  spend  one  evening  here 
every  two  weeks,  when  she  should  always  be  present. 
We  were  never  to  be  seen  together  in  public,  nor 
would  she  allow  us  to  correspond.  If,  at  the  end  of 
the  year,  we  w^ere  both  as  eager  for  it  as  we  are  now, 
she  would  consent  to  our  engagement.  Of  course 
we  shall  be,  so  I  consider  m.yself  as  good  as  engaged 
now.     Dear  me  !  how  funny  it  seems. 

Oct.  2. — Charley  is  not  at  all  pleased  with  moth- 
er's terms,  but  no  one  would  guess  it  from  his  man- 
ner to  her.  His  coming  is  always  the  signal  for  her 
trotting  down  stairs  ;  he  goes  to  meet  her  and  offers 
her  a  chair,  as  if  he  was  delighted  to  see  her.  We 
go  on  with  the  lessons,  as  this  gives  us  a  chance  to 
sit  pretty  close  together,  and  when  I  am  writing  my 
exercises  and  he  corrects  them,  I  rather  think  a  few 
little  things  get  on  to  the  paper  that  sound  nicely  to 
us,  but  would  not  strike  mother  very  agreeably. 
For  instance,  last  night  Charley  wrote  : 


Stepping  Heavenward  39 

**  Is  your  mother  never  sick  ?  A  nice  little  head- 
ache or  two  would  be  so  convenient  to  us  !  " 

And  I  wrote  back. 

"You  dear  old  horrid  thing  !  How  can  you  be  so 
selfish  ? " 

Jan.  15,  1833. — I  have  been  trying  to  think 
whether  I  am  any  happier  to-day  than  I  was  at  this 
time  a  year  ago.  If  I  am  not,  I  suppose  it  is  the 
tantalizing  way  in  which  I  am  placed  in  regard  to 
Charley.  We  have  so  much  to  say  to  each  other 
that  we  can't  say  before  mother,  and  that  we  cannot 
say  in  writing,  because  a  correspondence  is  one  of 
the  forbidden  things.  He  says  he  entered  into  no 
contract  not  to  write,  and  keeps  slipping  little  notes 
into  my  hand  ;  but  I  don't  think  that  quite  right. 
Mother  hears  us  arguing  and  disputing  about  it, 
though  she  does  not  know  the  subject  under  discus- 
sion, and  to-day  she  said  to  me  : 

"  I  would  not  argue  with  him,  if  I  were  you.  He 
never  will  yield." 

"  But  it  is  a  case  of  conscience,"  I  said,  "and  he 
ought  to  yield." 

"  There  is  no  obstinacy  like  that  of  a  f ,"  she 

began  and  stopped  short. 

^'  Oh,  you  may  as  well  finish  it !  "  I  cried.  ^^  I  know 
you  think  him  a  fool." 

Then  mother  burst  out. 

"  Oh,  my  child,"  she  said,  "  before  it  is  too  late, 
do  be  persuaded  by  me  to  give  up  this  whole  thing. 
I  shrink  from  paining  or  offending  you,  but  it  is 
my  duty,  as  your  mother,  to  warn   you    against  a 


40  Stepping  Heavenward 

marriage  that  will  make  shipwreck  of  your  hap- 
piness.'* 

''  Marriage !''  I  fairly  shrieked  out.  That  is  the 
last  thing  I  have  ever  thought  of.  I  felt  a  chill 
creep  over  me.  All  I  had  wanted  was  to  have 
Charley  come  here  every  day,  take  me  out  now  and 
then,  and  care  for  nobody  else. 

"  Yes,  marriage !  "  mother  repeated.  "  For  what  is 
the  meaning  of  an  engagement  if  marriage  is  not 
to  follow  ?  How  can  you  fail  to  see,  what  I  see,  oh  ! 
so  plainly,  that  Charley  Underhill  can  never,  never 
meet  the  requirements  of  your  soul.  You  are  capti- 
vated by  what  girls  of  your  age  call  beauty,  regular 
features,  a  fair  complexion  and  soft  eyes.  His  flat- 
teries delude,  and  his  professions  of  affection  gratify 
you.  You  do  not  see  that  he  is  shallow,  and  con- 
ceited, and  selfish  and — " 

"  Oh,  mother  !  How  can  you  be  so  unjust  ?  His 
whole  study  seems  to  be  to  please  others." 

**  Seems  to  be — that  is  true,"  she  replied.  "  His 
ruling  passion  is  love  of  admiration  ;  the  little 
pleasing  acts  that  attract  you  are  so  many  traps  set 
to  catch  the  attention  and  the  favorable  opinion  of 
those  about  him.  He  has  not  one  honest  desire  to 
please  because  it  is  right  to  be  pleasing.  Oh,  my 
precious  child,  what  a  fatal  mistake  you  are  making 
in  relying  on  your  own  judgment  in  this,  the  most 
important  of  earthly  decisions  !  " 

I  felt  very  angry. 

"  I  thought  the  Bible  forbade  back-biting,"  I  said. 

Mother  made  no  reply,  except  by  a  look  which  said 
about  a  hundred  and  forty  different  things.     And 


Stepping  Heavenward  41 

then  I  came  up  here  and  wrote  some  poetry,  which 
was  very  good  (for  me),  though  I  don't  suppose  she 
would  think  so. 

Oct.  I. — The  year  of  probation  is  over,  and  I  have 
nothing  to  do  now  but  to  be  happy.  But  being 
engaged  is  not  half  so  nice  as  I  expected  it  would 
be.  I  suppose  it  is  owing  to  my  being  obliged  to 
defy  mother's  judgment  in  order  to  gratify  my  own. 
People  say  she  has  great  insight  into  character,  and 
sees,  at  a  glance,  what  others  only  learn  after  much 
study. 

Oct.  10. — I  have  taken  a  dreadful  cold.  It  is  too 
bad.  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  coughing  all  winter,  and 
instead  of  going  out  with  Charley,  be  shut  up  at 
home. 

Oct.  12. — Charley  says  he  did  not  know  that  I 
was  subject  to  a  cough,  and  that  he  hopes  I  am  not 
consumptive,  because  his  father  and  mother  both 
died  of  consumption,  and  it  makes  him  nervous  to 
hear  people  cough.  I  nearly  strangled  myself  all 
the  evening  trying  not  to  annoy  him  with  mine. 


IV. 


Nov.  2. 

I  REALLY  think  I  am  sick  and  going  to  die.  Last 
night  I  raised  a  little  blood.  I  dare  not  tell  mother, 
it  would  distress  her  so,  but  I  am  sure  it  came  from 
my  lungs.  Charley  said  last  week  he  really  must 
stay  away  till  I  got  better,  for  my  cough  sounded 
like  his  mother's.  I  have  been  very  lonely,  and  have 
shed  some  tears,  but  most  of  the  time  have  been  too 
sorrowful  to  cry.  If  we  were  married,  and  I  had  a 
cough,  would  he  go  and  leave  me,  I  wonder? 

Sunday,  i8th. — Poor  mother  is  dreadfully  anxious 
about  me.  But  I  don't  see  how  she  can  love  me  so, 
after  the  way  I  have  behaved.  I  wonder  if,  after  all, 
mothers  a/e  not  the  best  friends  there  are  !  I  keep 
her  awake  with  my  cough  all  night,  and  am  mopy 
and  cross  all  day,  but  she  is  just  as  kind  and  affec- 
tionate as  she  can  be. 

Nov.  25. — The  day  I  wrote  that  was  Sunday.  I 
could  not  go  to  church,  and  I  felt  very  forlorn  and 
desolate.  I  tried  to  get  some  comfort  by  praying, 
but  when  I  got  on  my  knees  I  just  burst  out  crying 
and  could  not  say  a  word.  For  I  have  not  seen 
Charley  for  ten  days.  As  I  knelt  there  I  began  to 
think  myself  a  perfect  monster  of  selfishness  for 
wanting  him  to  spend  his  evenings  with  me,  now 
(42) 


Stepping  Heavenward  43 

that  I  am  so  unwell  and  annoy  him  so  with  my 
cough,  and  1  asked  myself  if  I  ought  not  to  break 
off  the  engagement  altogether,  if  I  was  really  in  a 
consumption,  the  very  disease  Charley  dreaded  most 
of  all.  It  seemed  such  a  proper  sacrifice  to  make  of 
myself.  Then  I  prayed — yes,  I  am  sure  I  really 
prayed  as  I  had  not  done  for  more  than  a  year,  and 
the  idea  of  self-sacrifice  grew  every  moment  more 
beautiful  in  my  eyes,  till  at  last  I  felt  an  almost  joy- 
ful triumph  in  writing  to  poor  Charley,  and  telling 
him  what  I  had  resolved  to  do. 
This  is  my  letter : 

My  Dear,  Dear  Charley  : — I  dare  not  tell  you 
what  it  costs  me  to  say  what  I  am  about  to  do  ;  but 
I  am  sure  you  know  me  v/ell  enough  by  this  time  to 
believe  that  it  is  only  because  your  happiness  is  far 
more  precious  to  me  than  my  own,  that  I  have  de- 
cided to  write  you  this  letter.  When  you  first  told 
me  that  you  loved  me,  you  said,  and  you  have  often 
said  so  since  then,  that  it  was  my  "  brightness  and 
gayety "  that  attracted  you.  I  knew  there  was 
something  underneath  my  gayety  better  worth  your 
love,  and  was  glad  I  could  give  you  more  than  you 
asked  for.  I  knew  I  was  not  a  mere  thoughtless, 
laughing  girl,  but  that  I  had  a  heart  as  wide  as  the 
ocean  to  give  you — as  wide  and  as  deep. 

But  now  my  "  brightness  and  gayety  "  have  gone; 
I  am  sick  and  perhaps  am  going  to  die.  If  this  is 
so,  it  would  be  very  sweet  to  have  your  love  go  with 
me  to  the  very  gates  of  death,  and  beautify  and 
glorify  my  path  thither.      But  what  a  weary  task 


44  Stepping  Heavenward 

this  would  be  to  you,  my  poor  Charley  !  And  so,  if 
you  think  it  best,  and  it  would  relieve  you  of  any 
care  and  pain,  I  will  release  you  from  our  engage- 
ment and  set  you  free. 

Your  Little  Katy. 


I  did  not  sleep  at  all  that  night.  Early  on  Mon- 
day I  sent  off  my  letter,  and  my  heart  beat  so  hard 
all  day  that  I  was  tired  and  faint.  Just  at  dark  his 
answer  came  ;  I  can  copy  it  from  memory. 

Dear  Kate  : — What  a  generous,  self-sacrificing 
little  thing  you  are  !  I  always  thought  so,  but  now 
you  have  given  me  a  noble  proof  of  it.  I  will  own 
that  I  have  been  disappointed  to  find  your  constitu- 
tion so  poor,  and  that  it  has  been  very  dull  sitting 
and  hearing  you  cough,  especially  as  I  was  reminded 
of  the  long  and  tedious  illness  through  which  poor 
Jenny  and  myself  had  to  nurse  our  mother.  I  vowed 
then  never  to  marry  a  consumptive  woman,  and  I 
thank  you  for  making  it  so  easy  for  me  to  bring  our 
engagement  to  an  end.  My  bright  hopes  are 
blighted,  and  it  will  be  long  before  I  shall  find  an- 
other to  fill  your  place.  I  need  not  say  how  much  I 
sympathize  with  you  in  this  disappointment.  I 
hope  the  consolations  of  religion  will  now  be  yours. 
Your  notes,  the  lock  of  your  hair,  etc.,  I  return  with 
this.  I  will  not  reproach  you  for  the  pain  you  have 
cost  me  ;  I  know  it  is  not  your  fault  that  your  health 
has  become  so  frail. 

I  remain  your  sincere  friend, 

Charles  Underhill. 


Stepping  Heavenward  45 

Jan.  I,  1834. — Let  me  finish  this  story  if  I  can. 

My  first  impulse  after  reading  his  letter  was  to  fly 
to  mother,  and  hide  away  forever  in  her  dear,  loving 
arms. 

But  I  restrained  myself,  and  with  my  heart  beat- 
ing so  that  I  could  hardly  hold  my  pen,  I  wrote  this  : 

Mr.  Underbill  :  Sir — The  scales  have  fallen  from 
my  eyes,  and  I  see  you  at  last  just  as  you  are.  Since 
my  note  to  you  on  Sunday  last,  I  have  had  a  con- 
sultation of  physicians,  and  they  all  agree  that  my 
disease  is  not  of  an  alarming  character,  and  that  I 
shall  soon  recover.  But  I  thank  God  that  before  it 
was  too  late,  you  have  been  revealed  to  me  just  as 
you  are — a  heartless,  selfish,  shallow  creature,  un- 
worthy the  love  of  a  true-hearted  woman,  unworthy 
even  of  your  own  self-respect.  I  gave  you  an  op- 
portunity to  withdraw  from  our  engagement  in  full 
faith,  loving  you  so  truly  that  I  was  ready  to  go 
trembling  to  my  grave  alone  if  you  shrank  from  sus- 
taining me  to  it.  But  I  see  now  that  I  did  not 
dream  for  one  moment  that  you  would  take  me  at 
my  word  and  leave  me  to  my  fate.  I  thought  I 
loved  a  man^  and  could  lean  on  him  when  strength 
failed  me.  I  know  now  that  I  loved  a  mere  creature 
of  my  imagination.  Take  back  your  letters  ;  I 
loathe  the  sight  of  them.  Take  back  the  ring,  and 
find,  if  you  can,  a  woman  who  will  never  be  sick, 
never  out  of  spirits,  and  who  never  will  die.  Thank 
heaven  it  is  not 

Katherine  Mortimer. 


46  Stepping  Heavenward 

These  lines  came  to  me  in  reply  : 

"  Thank  God  it  is  not  Kate  Mortimer.  I  want  an 
angel  for  my  wife,  not  a  vixen.  C.  U.*' 

Jan.  15. — "What  a  tempest-tossed  creature  this 
birthday  finds  me  !  But  let  me  finish  this  wretched, 
disgraceful  story,  if  I  can,  before  I  quite  lose  my 
senses. 

I  showed  my  mother  the  letters.  She  burst  into 
tears  and  opened  her  arms,  and  I  ran  into  them  as 
a  wounded  bird  flies  into  the  ark.  We  cried  to- 
gether.    Mother  never  said,  never  looked, 

"  I  told  you  so."     All  she  did  say  was  this  : 

"  God  has  heard  my  prayers  !  He  is  reserving 
better  things  for  my  child  !  " 

Dear  mother's  are  not  the  only  arms  I  have  flown 
to.  But  it  does  not  seem  as  if  God  ought  to  take  me 
in  because  I  am  in  trouble,  when  I  would  not  go  to 
Him  when  I  was  happy  in  something  else.  But  even 
in  the  midst  of  my  greatest  felicity  I  had  many  and 
many  a  misgiving  ;  many  a  season  when  my  con- 
science upbraided  me  for  my  willfulness  towards 
my  dear  mother,  and  my  whole  soul  yearned  for 
something  higher  and  better  even  than  Charley's 
love,  precious  as  it  was. 

Jan.  26. — I  have  shut  myself  up  in  my  room  to- 
day to  think  over  things.  The  end  of  it  is  that  I 
am  full  of  mortification  and  confusion  of  face.  If  I 
had  only  had  confidence  in  mother's  judgment  I 
should  never  have  get  entangled  in  this  silly  en- 
gagement.     I   see  now  that   Charley  never   could 


Stepping  Heavenward  47 

have  made  me  happy,  and  I  know  there  is  a  good 
deal  in  my  heart  he  never  called  out.  I  wish,  how- 
ever, I  had  not  written  him  when  I  was  in  such  a 
passion.  No  wonder  he  is  thankful  that  he  has  got 
free  from  such  a  vixen.  But,  oh  !  the  provocation 
was  terrible  ! 

I  have  made  up  my  mind  never  to  tell  a  human 
soul  about  this  affair.  It  will  be  so  high-minded 
and  honorable  to  shield  him  thus  from  the  contempt 
he  deserves.  With  all  my  faults  I  am  glad  that 
there  is  nothing  mean  or  little  about  me  ! 

Jan.  27. — I  can't  bear  to  write  it  down,  but  I  will. 
The  ink  was  hardly  dry  yesterday  on  the  above  self- 
laudation  when  Amelia  came.  She  had  been  out  of 
town,  and  had  only  just  learned  what  had  happened. 
Of  course  she  was  curious  to  know  the  whole  story. 

And  I  told  it  to  her,  every  word  of  it !  Oh,  Kate 
Mortimer,  how  "high-minded  "  you  are  !  How  free 
from  all  that  is  ^^  mean  and  little  "  !  I  could  tear 
my  hair  if  it  would  do  any  good  ? 

Amelia  defended  Charley,  and  I  was  thus  led  on 
to  say  every  harsh  thing  of  him  I  could  think  of. 
She  said  he  was  of  so  sensitive  a  nature,  had  so 
much  sensibility,  and  such  a  constitutional  aversion 
to  seeing  suffering,  that  for  her  part  she  could  not 
blame  him. 

*'It  is  such  a  pity  you  had  not  had  your  lungs  ex- 
amined before  you  wrote  that  first  letter,"  she  went 
on.  *^  But  you  are  so  impulsive  !  If  you  had  only 
waited  you  would  be  engaged  to  Charley  still  !  " 

"  I  am  thankful  I  did  not  wait,"  I  cried,  angrily. 


48  Sleppmg  Heavenward 

^^  Do,  Amelia,  drop  the  subject  forever.  You  and  I 
shall  never  agree  upon  it.  The  truth  is,  you  are 
two-thirds  in  love  with  him,  and  have  been,  all 
along." 

She  colored,  and  laughed,  and  actually  looked 
pleased.  If  anyone  had  made  such  an  outrageous 
speech  to  me,  I  should  have  been  furious. 

''  I  suppose  you  know,"  said  she,  "  that  old  Mr. 
Underhill  has  taken  such  a  fancy  to  him  that  he  has 
mad.e  him  his  heir  ;  and  he  is  as  rich  as  a  Jew." 

^*  Indeed  ! "  I  said,  dryly. 

I  wonder  if  mother  knew  it  when  she  opposed  our 
engagement  so  strenuously. 

Jan.  31. — I  have  asked  her,  and  she  said  she  did. 
Mr.  Underhill  told  her  his  intentions  when  he  urged 
her  consent  to  the  engagement.  Dear  mother ! 
How  unworldly,  how  unselfish  she  is  ! 

Feb.  4. — The  name  of  Charley  Underhill  appears 
on  these  pages  for  the  last  time.  He  is  engaged  to 
Amelia  !  From  this  moment  she  is  lost  to  me  for- 
ever. How  desolate,  how  mortified,  how  miserable 
I  am  !  Who  could  have  thought  this  of  Amelia  ! 
She  came  to  see  me,  radiant  with  joy.  I  concealed 
my  disgust  until  she  said  that  Charley  felt  now  that 
he  had  never  really  loved  me,  but  had  preferred  her 
all  along.  Then  I  burst  out.  What  I  said  I  do  not 
know,  and  do  not  care.  The  w^hole  thing  is  so  dis- 
graceful that  I  should  be  a  stock  or  a  stone  not  to 
resent  it. 


Stepping  Heavenward  49 

Feb.  5. — After  yesterday's  passion  of  grief,  shame 
and  anger,  I  feel  perfectly  stupid  and  languid.  Oh, 
that  I  was  prepared  for  a  better  world,  and  could 
fly  to  it  and  be  at  rest ! 

Feb.  6. — Now^  that  it  is  all  over,  how  ashamed  I 
am  of  the  fury  I  have  been  in,  and  which  has  given 
Amelia  such  advantage  over  me  !  I  was  beginning 
to  believe  that  I  was  really  living  a  feeble  and  flut- 
tering, but  real  Christian  life,  and  finding  some 
satisfaction  in  it.  But  that  is  all  over  now.  I  am 
doomed  to  be  a  victim  of  my  own  unstable,  passion- 
ate, wayward  nature,  and  the  sooner  I  settle  down 
into  that  conviction,  the  better.  And  yet  how  my 
very  soul  craves  the  highest  happiness,  and  refuses 
to  be  comforted  while  that  is  wanting. 

Feb.  7. — After  writing  that,  I  do  not  know  what 
made  me  go  to  see  Dr.  Cabot.  He  received  me  in 
that  cheerful  way  of  his  that  seems  to  promise  the 
taking  one's  burden  right  off  one's  back. 

^'  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  my  dear  child,"  he 
said. 

I  intended  to  be  very  dignified  and  cold.  As  if  I 
was  going  to  have  any  Dr.  Cabots  undertaking  to 
sympathize  with  me!  But  those  few  kind  words 
just  upset  me,  and  I  began  to  cry. 

"You  would  not  speak  so  kindly,"  I  got  out  at 
last,  "  if  you  knew  what  a  dreadful  creature  I  am. 
I  am  angry  with  myself,  and  angry  with  everybody, 
and  angry  with  God.  I  can't  be  good  two  minutes 
at  a  time.     I  do  everything  I   do  not  want  to  do. 


50  Stepping  Heavenward 

and  do  nothing  I  try  and  pray  to  do.  Everybody 
plagues  me  and  tempts  me.  And  God  does  not 
answer  any  of  my  prayers,  and  I  am  just  desper- 
ate." 

"  Poor  child  !  '*  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  to 
himself.  "  Poor,  heart-sick,  tired  child,  that  cannot 
see  what  I  can  see,  that  its  Father's  loving  arms  are 
all  about  it  ? " 

I  stopped  crying,  to  strain  my  ears  and  listen. 
He  went  on. 

^'  Katy,  all  that  you  say  may  be  true.  I  dare  say 
it  is.     But  God  loves  you.     He  loves  you." 

"  He  loves  me,"  I  repeated  to  myself.  "  He  loves 
me  !  Oh,  Dr.  Cabot,  if  I  could  believe  that !  If 
I  could  believe  that,  after  all  the  promises  I  have 
broken,  all  the  foolish,  wrong  things  I  have  done, 
and  shall  always  be  doing,  God  perhaps  still  loves 
me ! " 

"You  may  be  sure  of  it,"  he  said,  solemnly.  "I, 
His  minister,  bring  the  gospel  to  you  to-day.  Go 
home  and  say  over  and  over  to  yourself,  ^I  am  a 
wayward,  foolish  child.  But  He  loves  me !  I  have 
disobeyed  and  grieved  Him  ten  thousand  times. 
But  He  loves  me  !  I  have  lost  faith  in  some  of  my 
dearest  friends  and  am  very  desolate.  But  He 
loves  me  !  I  do  not  love  Him,  I  am  even  angry 
with  Him  !     But  He  loves  me  ! '  " 

I  came  away,  and  all  the  way  home  I  fought  this 
battle  with  myself,  saying,  "  He  loves  me  !  "  I  knelt 
down  to  pray,  and  all  my  wasted,  childish,  wicked 
life  came  and  stared  me  in  the  face.  I  looked  at  it, 
and  said  with  tears  of  joy,  "  But   He  loves  me  !  " 


Stepping  Heavenward  5 1 

Never  in  my  life  did  I  feel  so  rested,  so  quieted,  so 
sorrowful,  and  yet  so  satisfied. 

Feb.  10. — What  a  beautiful  world  this  is,  and  how 
full  it  is  of  truly  kind,  good  people  !  Mrs.  Morris 
was  here  this  morning,  and  just  one  squeeze  of  that 
long,  yellow  old  hand  of  hers  seemed  to  speak  a 
bookful  !  I  wonder  why  I  have  always  disliked 
her  so,  for  she  is  really  an  excellent  woman.  I  gave 
her  a  good  kiss  to  pay  her  for  the  sympathy  she 
had  sense  enough  not  to  put  into  canting  words, 
and  if  you  will  believe  it,  dear  old  Journal,  the  tears 
came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  said  : 

"  You  are  one  of  the  Lord's  beloved  ones,  though 
perhaps  you  do  not  know  it." 

I  repeated  again  to  myself  those  sweet,  mysteri- 
ous words,  and  then  I  tried  to  think  what  I  could 
do  for  Him.  But  I  could  not  think  of  anything 
great  or  good  enough.  I  went  into  mother's  room 
and  put  my  arms  round  her  and  told  her  how  I 
loved  her.     She  looked  surprised  and  pleased. 

"Ah,  I  knew  it  would  come  !"  she  said,  laying 
her  hand  on  her  Bible. 

"  Knew  what  would  come,  mother  ?  '* 

'^  Peace ^'  she  said. 

I  came  back  here  and  wrote  a  little  note  to 
Amelia,  telling  her  how  ashamed  and  sorry  I  was 
that  I  could  not  control  myself  the  other  day. 
Then  I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  James.  I  have  been 
very  careless  about  writing  to  him. 

Then  I  began  to  hem  those  handkerchiefs  mother 
asked  me  to  finish  a  month  ago.     But  I  could  not 


52  Stepping  Heavenzvard 

think  of  anything  to  do  for  God.  I  wish  I  could. 
It  makes  me  so  happy  to  think  that  all  this  time, 
while  I  was  caring  for  nobody  but  myself,  and 
fancying  He  must  almost  hate  me,  He  was  loving 
and  pitying  me. 

Feb.  15. — I  went  to  see  Dr.  Cabot  again  to-day. 
He  came  down  from  his  study  with  his  pen  in  his 
hand. 

"  How  dare  you  come  and  spoil  my  sermon  on 
Saturday  ? "  he  asked,  good-humoredly. 

Though  he  seemed  full  of  loving  kindness,  I  was 
ashamed  of  my  thoughtlessness.  Though  I  did  not 
know  he  was  particularly  busy  on  Saturdays.  If  I 
were  a  minister  I  am  sure  I  would  get  my  sermons 
done  early  in  the  week. 

"  I  only  wanted  to  ask  one  thing,"  I  said.  "  I 
want  to  do  something  for  God.  And  I  cannot  think 
of  anything  unless  it  is  to  go  on  a  mission.  And 
mother  would  never  let  me  do  that.  She  thinks 
girls  with  delicate  health  are  not  fit  for  such  work." 

"  At  all  events  I  would  not  go  to-day,"  he  replied. 
"  Meanwhile  do  everything  you  do  for  Him  who  has 
loved  you  and  given  Himself  for  you." 

I  did  not  dare  to  stay  any  longer,  and  so  came 
away  quite  puzzled.  Dinner  was  ready,  and  as  I  sat 
down  to  the  table,  I  said  to  myself  : 

"  I  eat  this  dinner  for  myself,  not  for  God.  What 
can  Dr.  Cabot  mean  ? "  Then  I  remembered  the 
text  about  doing  all  for  the  glory  of  God,  even  in 
eating  and  drinking  ;  but  I  do  not  understand  it  at 
all. 


54  Stepping  Heavenward 

they  begin  real  Christian  lives.  But  I  do  not  know 
of  any  such  time  in  my  history.  This  causes  me 
many  uneasy  moments." 

"  You  are  wrong  in  thinking  that  most  persons 
have  this  advantage  over  you.  I  believe  that  the 
children  of  Christian  parents,  who  have  been  judici- 
ously trained,  rarely  can  point  to  any  day  or  hour 
when  they  began  to  live  this  new  life.  The  question 
is  not,  do  you  remember,  my  child,  when  you  entered 
this  world,  and  how  !  It  is  simply  this,  are  you  now 
alive  and  an  inhabitant  thereof?  And  now  it  is  my 
turn  to  ask  you  a  question.  How  happens  it  that 
you,  who  have  a  mother  of  rich  and  varied  experi- 
ence, allow  yourself  to  be  tormented  with  these 
petty  anxieties  which  she  is  as  capable  of  dispelling 
as  I  am  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,'*  I  answered.  "  But  we  girls 
can't  talk  to  our  mothers  about  any  of  our  sacred 
feelings,  and  we  hate  to  have  them  talk  to  us." 

Dr.  Cabot  shook  his  head. 

"  There  is  something  wrong  somewhere,"  he  said. 
"A  young  girl's  mother  is  her  natural  refuge  in 
every  perplexity.  I  hoped  that  you,  who  have  rather 
more  sense  than  most  girls  of  your  age,  could  give 
me  some  idea  what  the  difficulty  is." 

After  he  had  gone,  I  am  ashamed  to  own  that  I 
was  in  a  perfect  flutter  of  delight  at  what  he  had 
said  about  my  having  more  sense  than  most  girls. 
Meeting  poor  mother  on  the  stairs  while  in  this  ex- 
alted state  of  mind,  I  gave  her  a  very  short  answer 
to  a  kind  question,  and  made  her  unhappy,  as  I  have 
made  myself. 


Stepping  Heavenward  55 

It  is  just  a  year  ago  to-day  that  I  got  frightened 
at  my  novel-reading  propensities,  and  resolved  not 
to  look  into  one  for  twelve  months.  I  was  getting 
to  dislike  all  other  books,  and  night  after  night  sat 
up  late,  devouring  everything  exciting  I  could  get 
hold  of.  One  Saturday  night  I  sat  up  till  the  clock 
struck  twelve  to  finish  one,  and  the  next  morning  I 
was  so  sleepy  that  I  had  to  stay  at  home  from 
church.  Now  I  hope  and  believe  the  back  of  this 
taste  is  broken,  and  that  I  shall  never  be  a  slave  to 
it  again.  Indeed  it  does  not  seem  to  me  now  that  I 
shall  ever  care  for  such  books  again. 

Feb.  24. — Mother  spoke  to  me  this  morning  for 
the  fiftieth  time,  I  really  believe,  about  my  disor- 
derly habits.  I  don't  think  I  am  careless  because  I 
like  confusion,  but  the  trouble  is  I  am  always  in  a 
hurry  and  a  ferment  about  something.  If  I  want 
anything,  I  want  it  very  much,  and  right  away.  So 
if  I  am  looking  for  a  book,  or  a  piece  of  music,  or  a 
pattern,  I  tumble  everything  around,  and  can't  stop 
to  put  them  to  rights.  I  wish  I  were  not  so  eager 
and  impatient.  But  I  mean  to  try  to  keep  my  room 
and  my  drawers  in  order,  to  please  mother. 

She  says,  too,  that  I  am  growing  careless  about 
my  hair  and  my  dress.  But  that  is  because  my 
mind  is  so  full  of  graver,  more  important  things.  I 
thought  I  ought  to  be  wholly  occupied  with  my  duty 
to  God.  But  mother  says  duty  to  God  includes 
duty  to  one's  neighbor,  and  that  untidy  hair,  put  up 
in  all  sorts  of  rough  bunches,  rumpled  cuffs  and  col- 
lars, and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  make  one  offensive 


56  Stepping  Heavenward 

to  all  one  meets.  I  am  sorry  she  thinks  so,  for  I  find 
it  very  convenient  to  twist  up  my  hair  almost  any- 
how, and  it  takes  a  good  deal  of  time  to  look  after 
collars  and  cuffs. 

March  14. — To-day  I  feel  discouraged  and  disap- 
pointed. I  certainly  thought  that  if  God  really 
loved  me,  and  I  really  loved  Him,  I  should  find  my- 
self growing  better  day  by  day.  But  I  am  not  im- 
proved in  the  least.  Most  of  the  time  I  spend  on 
my  knees  I  am  either  stupid,  feeling  nothing  at  all, 
or  else  my  head  is  full  of  what  I  was  doing  before  I 
began  to  pray,  or  what  I  am  going  to  do  as  soon  as 
I  get  through.  I  do  not  believe  anybody  else  in  the 
world  is  like  me  in  this  respect.  Then  when  I  feel 
differently,  and  can  make  a  nice,  glib  prayer,  with 
floods  of  tears  running  down  my  cheeks,  I  get  all 
puffed  up,  and  think  how  much  pleased  God  must 
be  to  see  me  so  fervent  in  spirit.  I  go  down-stairs 
in  this  frame,  and  begin  to  scold  Susan  for  mis- 
placing my  music,  till  all  of  a  sudden  I  catch  myself 
doing  it,  and  stop  short,  crestfallen  and  con- 
founded. I  have  so  many  such  experiences  that  I 
feel  like  a  baby  just  learning  to  walk,  who  is  so 
afraid  of  falling  that  it  has  half  a  mind  to  sit  down 
once  for  all. 

Then  there  is  another  thing.  Seeing  mother  so 
fond  of  Thomas  k  Kempis,  I  have  been  reading  it, 
now  and  then,  and  am  not  fond  of  it  at  all.  From 
beginning  to  end  it  exhorts  to  self-denial  in  every 
form  and  shape.  Must  I  then  give  up  all  hope  of 
happiness  in  this  world,  and  modify  all  my  natural 


Stepping  Heavenward  57 

tastes  and  desires  ?  Oh,  I  do  love  so  to  be  happy  ! 
And  I  do  so  hate  to  suffer  !  The  very  thought  of 
being  sick,  or  of  being  forced  to  nurse  sick  people, 
with  all  their  cross  ways,  and  of  losing  my  friends, 
or  of  having  to  live  with  disagreeable  people,  makes 
me  shudder.  I  want  to  please  God,  and  to  be  like 
Him.  I  certainly  do.  .But  I  am  so  young,  and  it  is 
so  natural  to  want  to  have  a  good  time  !  And  now 
I  am  in  for  it  I  may  as  well  tell  the  whole  story. 
When  I  read  the  lives  of  good  men  and  women  who 
have  died  and  gone  to  heaven,  I  find  they  all  liked 
to  sit  and  think  about  God  and  about  Christ.  Now 
/  don't.  I  often  try,  but  my  mind  flies  off  in  a  tan- 
gent.    The  truth  is  I  am  perfectly  discouraged. 

March  17. — I  went  to  see  Dr.  Cabot  to-day,  but 
he  was  out,  so  I  thought  I  would  ask  for  Mrs.  Cabot, 
though  I  was  determined  not  to  tell  her  any  of  my 
troubles.  But  somehow  she  got  the  whole  story  out 
of  me,  and  instead  of  being  shocked,  as  I  expected 
she  would  be,  she  actually  burst  out  laughing  !  She 
recovered  herself  immediately,  however. 

"  Do  excuse  me  for  laughing  at  you,  you  dear 
child  you  !"  she  said.  "  But  I  remember  so  well  how 
I  used  to  flounder  through  just  such  needless  anxie- 
ties, and  life  looks  so  different,  so  very  different,  to 
me  now  from  what  it  did  then  !  What  should  you 
think  of  a  man  who,  having  just  sowed  his  field,  was 
astonished  not  to  see  it  at  once  ripe  for  the  harvest, 
because  his  neighbor's,  after  long  months  of  wait- 
ing, was  just  being  gathered  in  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean,"  I  asked,  "  that  by  and  by  I  shall 


58  Stepping  Heavenward 

naturally  come  to  feel  and  think  as  other  good  peo- 
ple do  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do.  You  must  make  the  most  of  what 
little  Christian  life  you  have  ;  be  thankful  God  has 
given  you  so  much,  cherish  it,  pray  over  it,  and  guard 
it  like  the  apple  of  your  eye.  Imperceptibly,  but 
surely,  it  v^ill  grow,  and  keep  on  growing,  for  this  is 
its  nature/' 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  wait,"  I  said,  despondently. 
"  I  have  just  been  reading  a  delightful  book,  full  of 
stories  of  heroic  deeds — not  fables,  but  histories  of 
real  events  and  real  people.  It  has  quite  stirred  me 
up,  and  made  me  wish  to  possess  such  beautiful 
heroism,  and  that  I  were  a  man,  that  I  might  have 
a  chance  to  perform  some  truly  noble,  self-sacrificing 
acts." 

^*I  dare  say  your  chance  will  come,"  she  replied, 
"  though  you  are  not  a  man.  I  fancy  we  all  get, 
more  or  less,  what  we  want." 

"Do  you  really  think  so  ?  Let  me  see,  then,  what 
I  want  most.  But  I  am  staying  too  long.  Were 
you  particularly  busy?" 

*^  No,"  she  returned  smilingly,  "  I  am  learning 
'that  the  man  w^ho  wants  me  is  the  man  I  want.'  " 

"  You  are  very  good  to  say  so.  Well,  in  the  first 
place,  I  do  really  and  truly  want  to  be  good.  Not 
with  common  goodness,  you  know,  but — " 

**  But  ///^common  goodness,"  she  put  in. 

"I  mean  that  I  want  to  be  very,  very  good.  I 
should  like  next  best  to  be  learned  and  accomplished. 
Then  I  should  want  to  be  perfectly  well  and  per- 
fectly  happy.     And  a  pleasant  home,  of  course,  I 


Stepping  Heavenward  59 

must  have,  with  friends  to  love  me,  and  like  me,  too. 
And  I  can't  get  along  without  some  pretty,  tasteful 
things  about  me.  But  you  are  laughing  at  me  ! 
Have  I  said  anything  foolish  ?" 

'^  If  I  laughed  it  was  not  at  you,  but  at  poor  human 
nature  that  would  fain  grasp  everything  at  once. 
Allowing  that  you  should  possess  all  you  have  just 
described,  where  is  the  heroism  you  so  much  admire 
to  find  room  for  exercise  ?" 

"  That's  just  what  I  was  saying.  That  is  just  what 
troubles  me." 

"  To  be  sure,  while  perfectly  well  and  happy,  in 
a  pleasant  home,  with  friends  to  love  and  admire 
you — " 

"Oh,  I  did  not  say  admire,"  I  interrupted. 

"That  was  just  what  you  meant,  my  dear." 

I  am  afraid  it  was,  now  I  come  to  think  it  over. 

"Well,  with  plenty  of  friends,  good  in  an  uncom- 
mon way,  accomplished,  learned,  and  surrounded 
with  pretty  and  tasteful  objects,  your  life  will  cer- 
tainly be  in  danger  of  not  proving  very  sublime." 

"  It  is  a  great  pity,"  I  said,  musingly. 

"Suppose  then  you  content  yourself  for  the  pres- 
ent with  doing  in  a  faithful,  quiet,  persistent  way 
all  the  little,  homely  tasks  that  return  with  each 
returning  day,  each  one  as  unto  God,  and  perhaps 
by  and  by  you  will  thus  have  gained  strength  for  a 
more  heroic  life." 

"  But  I  don't  know  how." 

^'  You  have  some  little  home  duties,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I    have  the  care  of   my   own    room,    and 


6o  Stepping  Heavenward 

mother  wants  me  to  have  a  general  oversight  of  the 
parlor  ;  you  know  we  have  but  one  parlor  now." 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  do  ?  " 

"  Why,  my  music  and  drawing  take  up  a  good 
deal  of  my  time,  and  I  read  and  study  more  or  less, 
and  go  out  some,  and  we  have  a  good  many 
visitors." 

"  I  suppose,  then,  you  keep  your  room  in  nice  lady- 
like order,  and  that  the  parlor  is  dusted  every  morn- 
ing, loose  music  put  out  of  the  way,  books  restored 
to  their  places —  " 

"  Now  I  know  mother  has  been  telling  you." 

"Your  mother  has  told  me  nothing  at  all." 

"Well,  then,"  I  said,  laughing,  but  a  little 
ashamed,  "  I  don't  keep  my  room  in  nice  order,  and 
mother  really  sees  to  the  parlor  herself,  though  I 
pretend  to  do  it." 

"  And  is  she  never  annoyed  by  this  neglect  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  very  much  annoyed." 

"Then,  dear  Katy,  suppose  your  first  act  of  hero- 
ism to-morrow  should  be  the  gratifying  your  mother 
in  these  little  things,  little  though  they  are.  Surely 
your  first  duty,  next  to  pleasing  God,  is  to  please 
your  mother,  and  in  every  possible  way  to  sweeten 
and  beautify  her  life.  You  may  depend  upon  it  that 
a  life  of  real  heroism  and  self-sacrifice  7nust  begin 
and  lay  its  foundation  in  this  little  world,  wherein  it 
learns  its  first  lesson  and  takes  its  first  steps." 

"  And  do  you  really  think  that  God  notices  such 
little  things?" 

"  My  dear  child,  what  a  question  !  If  there  is  any 
one  truth  I  would  gladly  impress  on  the  mind  of  a 


Stepping  Heavenward  6 1 

young  Christian,  it  is  just  this,  that  God  notices  the 
most  trivial  act,  accepts  the  poorest,  most  threadbare 
little  service,  listens  to  the  coldest,  feeblest  petition, 
and  gathers  up  with  parental  fondness  all  our  frag- 
mentary desires  and  attempts  at  good  works.  Oh,  if 
we  could  only  begin  to  conceive  how  He  loves  us, 
what  different  creatures  we  should  be  !  " 

I  felt  inspired  by  her  enthusiasm,  though  I  don't 
think  I  quite  understand  what  she  means.  I  did  not 
dare  to  stay  any  longer,  for,  with  her  great  host  of 
children,  she  must  have  her  hands  full. 

March  25. — Mother  is  very  much  astonished  to 
see  how  nicely  I  am  keeping  things  in  order.  I  was 
flying  about  this  morning,  singing,  and  dusting  the 
furniture,  when  she  came  in  and  began,  "  He  that  is 
faithful  in  that  which  is  least " — but  I  ran  at  her 
with  my  brush,  and  would  not  let  her  finish.  I 
really,  really  don't  deserve  to  be  praised.  For  I 
have  been  thinking  that,  if  it  is  true  that  God 
notices  every  little  thing  we  do  to  please  Him,  He 
must  also  notice  every  cross  word  we  speak,  every 
shrug  of  the  shoulders,  every  ungracious  look,  and 
that  they  displease  Him.  And  my  list  of  such  of- 
fences is  as  long  as  my  life  ! 

March  29. — Yesterday,  for  the  first  time  since  that 
dreadful  blow,  I  felt  some  return  of  my  natural 
gayety  and  cheerfulness.  It  seemed  to  come  hand 
in  hand  with  my  first  real  effort  to  go  so  far  out  of 
myself  as  to  try  to  do  exactly  what  would  gratify 
dear  mother. 


62  Stepping  Heavenward 

But  to-day  I  am  all  down  again.  I  miss  Amelia's 
friendship,  for  one  thing.  To  be  sure  I  wonder  how 
I  ever  came  to  love  such  a  superficial  character  so 
devotedly,  but  I  must  have  somebody  to  love,  and 
perhaps  I  invented  a  lovely  creature,  and  called  it 
by  her  name,  and  bowed  down  to  it  and  worshiped 
it.  I  certainly  did  so  in  regard  to  him  whose  heart- " 
less  cruelty  has  left  me  so  sad,  so  desolate. 

Evening. — Mother  has  been  very  patient  and  for- 
bearing with  me  all  day.  To-night,  after  tea,  she 
said,  in  her  gentlest,  tenderest  way, 

"  Dear  Katy,  I  feel  very  sorry  for  you.  But  I  see 
one  path  which  you  have  not  yet  tried,  which  can 
lead  you  out  of  these  sore  straits.  You  have  tried 
living  for  yourself  a  good  many  years,  and  the  re- 
sult is  great  weariness  and  heaviness  of  soul.  Try 
now  to  live  for  others.  Take  a  class  in  the  Sunday- 
school.  Go  with  me  to  visit  my  poor  people.  You 
will  be  astonished  to  find  how  much  suffering  and 
sickness  there  is  in  this  world,  and  how  delightful 
it  is  to  sympathize  with  and  try  to  relieve  it." 

This  advice  was  very  repugnant  to  me.  My  time 
is  pretty  fully  occupied  with  my  books,  my  music 
and  my  drawing.  And  of  all  places  in  the  world  I 
hate  a  sick-room.  But,  on  the  whole,  I  will  take  a 
class  in  the  Sunday-schooL 


V. 


April  6. 

I  HAVE  taken  it  at  last.  I  would  not  take  one  be- 
fore, because  I  knew  I  could  not  teach  little  children 
how  to  love  God,  unless  I  loved  Him  myself.  My 
class  is  perfectly  delightful.  There  are  twelve  dear 
little  things  in  it,  of  all  ages  between  eight  and  nine. 
Eleven  are  girls,  and  the  one  boy  makes  me  more 
trouble  than  all  of  them  put  together.  When  I  get 
them  all  about  me,  and  their  sweet  innocent  faces 
look  up  into  mine,  I  am  so  happy  that  I  can  hardly 
help  stopping  every  now  and  then  to  kiss  them. 
They  ask  the  very  strangest  questions  !  I  mean  to 
spend  a  great  deal  of  time  in  preparing  the  lesson, 
and  in  hunting  up  stories  to  illustrate  it.  Oh,  I  am 
so  glad  I  was  ever  born  into  this  beautiful  world, 
where  there  will  always  be  dear  little  children  to 
love  ! 

April  13. — Sunday  has  come  again,  and  with  it 
my  darling  little  class  !  Dr.  Cabot  has  preached  de- 
lightfully all  day,  and  I  feel  that  I  begin  to  under- 
stand his  preaching  better,  and  that  it  must  do  me 
good.  I  long,  I  truly  long  to  please  God  ;  I  long  to 
feel  as  the  best  Christians  feel,  and  to  live  as  they 
live. 

(63) 


64  Stepping  Heavenward 

April  20. — Now  that  I  have  these  twelve  little 
ones  to  instruct,  I  am  more  than  ever  in  earnest 
about  setting  them  a  good  example  through  the  week. 
It  is  true  they  do  not,  most  of  them,  know  how  I 
spend  my  time,  nor  how  I  act.  But  /  know,  and 
whenever  I  am  conscious  of  not  practicing  what  I 
preach,  I  am  bitterly  ashamed  and  grieved.  How 
much  work,  badly  done,  I  am  now  having  to  undo  ! 
If  I  had  begun  in  earnest  to  serve  God  when  I  was 
as  young  as  these  children  are,  how  many  wrong 
habits  I  should  have  avoided  ;  habits  that  entangle 
me  now,  as  in  so  many  nets.  I  am  trying  to  take 
each  of  these  little  gentle  girls  b}^  the  hand  and  to 
lead  her  to  Christ.  Poor  Johnny  Ross  is  not  so 
docile  as  they  are,  and  tries  my  patience  to  the  last 
degree. 

April  27. — This  morning  I  had  my  little  flock 
about  me,  and  talked  to  them  out  of  the  very  bot- 
tom of  my  heart  about  Jesus.  They  left  their  seats 
and  got  close  to  me  in  a  circle,  leaning  on  my  lap 
and  drinking  in  every  word.  All  of  a  sudden  I  was 
aware,  as  by  a  magnetic  influence,  that  a  great  lum- 
bering man  in  the  next  seat  was  looking  at  me  out 
of  two  of  the  blackest  eyes  I  ever  saw,  and  evidently 
listening  to  what  I  was  saying.  I  was  disconcerted 
at  first,  then  angry.  What  impertinence.  What 
rudeness  !  I  am  sure  he  must  have  seen  my  dis- 
pleasure in  my  face,  for  he  got  up  what  I  suppose 
he  meant  for  a  blush,  that  is  he  turned  several  shades 
darker  than  he  was  before,  giving  one  the  idea  that 
he  is  full  of  black  rather  than  red  blood.     I  should 


Stepping  Heavenward  65 

not  have  remembered  it,  however — by  it  I  mean  his 
impertinence — if  he  had  not  shortly  after  made  a 
really  excellent  address  to  the  children.  Perhaps  it 
was  a  little  above  their  comprehension,  but  it  showed 
a  good  deal  of  thought  and  earnestness.  I  meant  to 
ask  who  he  was,  but  forgot  it. 

This  has  been  a  delightful  Sunday.  I  have  really 
feasted  on  Dr.  Cabot's  preaching.  But  I  am  satis- 
fied that  there  is  something  in  religion  I  do  not  yet 
apprehend.  I  do  wish  I  positively  knew  that  God 
had  forgiven  and  accepted  me. 

May  6. — Last  evening  Clara  Ray  had  a  little  party 
and  I  was  there.  She  has  a  great  knack  at  getting 
the  right  sort  of  people  together,  and  of  making 
them  enjoy  themselves. 

I  sang  several  songs,  and  so  did  Clara,  but  they 
all  said  my  voice  was  finer  and  in  better  training 
than  hers.  It  is  delightful  to  be  with  cultivated, 
agreeable  people.  I  could  have  stayed  all  night,  but 
mother  sent  for  me  before  any  one  else  had  thought 
of  going. 

May  7. — I  have  been  on  a  charming  excursion  to- 
day with  Clara  Ray  and  all  her  set.  I  was  rather 
tired,  but  had  an  invitation  to  a  concert  this  even- 
ing, w^hich  I  could  not  resist. 

J»ULY  21. — So  much  has  been  going  on  that  I  have 
not  had  time  to  write.  There  is  no  end  to  the  pic- 
nics, drives,  parties,  etc.,  this  summer.  I  am  afraid 
that  I  am  not  getting  on  at  all.     My  prayers  are 


66  Stepping  Heavenward 

dull  and  short,  and  full  of  wandering  thoughts.  I 
am  brimful  of  vivacity  and  good  humor  in  company, 
and  as  soon  as  I  get  home  am  stupid  and  peevish. 
I  suppose  this  will  always  be  so,  as  it  always  has 
been  ;  and  I  declare  I  would  rather  be  so  than  such 
a  vapid,  flat  creature  as  Mary  Jones,  or  such  a  dull, 
heavy  one  as  big  Lucy  Merrill. 

July  24. — Clara  Ray  says  the  girls  think  me  reck- 
less and  imprudent  in  speech.  Fve  a  good  mind  not 
to  go  with  her  set  any  more.  I  am  afraid  I  have 
been  a  good  deal  dazzled  by  the  attentions  I  have 
received  of  late  ;  and  now  comes  this  blow  at  my 
vanity. 

On  the  whole,  I  feel  greatly  out  of  sorts  this  even- 
ing. 

July  28. — People  talk  about  happiness  to  be  found 
in  a  Christian  life.  I  wonder  why  I  do  not  find 
more  !  On  Sundays  I  am  pretty  good,  and  always 
seem  to  start  afresh  ;  but  on  week-days  I  am  drawn 
along  with  those  about  me.  All  my  pleasures  are 
innocent  ones ;  there  is  surely  no  harm  in  going  to 
concerts,  driving  out,  singing,  and  making  little 
visits  !  But  these  things  distract  me  ;  they  absorb 
me  ;  they  make  religious  duties  irksome.  I  almost 
wish  I  could  shut  myself  up  in  a  cell,  and  bO  get  out 
of  the  reach  of  temptation. 

The  truth  is,  the  journey  heavenward  is  all  up 
hill.  I  have  to  force  myself  to  keep  on.  The  won- 
der is  that  anybody  gets  there  with  so  much  to  op- 
pose— so  little  to  help  one  ! 


Stepping  Heavenward  67 

July  29. — It  is  high  time  to  stop  and  think.  I 
have  been  like  one  running  a  race,  and  am  stopping 
to  take  breath.  I  do  not  like  the  way  in  which  things 
have  been  going  on  of  late.  I  feel  restless  and  ill  at 
ease.  I  see  that  if  I  would  be  happy  in  God,  I  must 
give  Him  all.  And  there  is  a  wicked  reluctance  to 
do  that.  I  want  Him — but  I  want  to  have  my  own 
way,  too.  I  want  to  walk  humbly  and  softly  before 
Him,  and  I  want  to  go  where  I  shall  be  admired 
and  applauded.  To  whom  shall  I  yield  ?  To  God  ? 
Or  to  myself? 

July  30. — I  met  Dr.  Cabot  to-day,  and  could  not 
help  asking  the  question  : 

"  Is  it  right  for  me  to  sing  and  play  in  company 
when  all  I  do  it  for  is  to  be  admired  ?" 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  all  you  do  it  for  ?"  he  re- 
turned. 

*^Oh,"  I  said,  "I  suppose  there  may  be  a  sprink- 
ling of  desire  to  entertain  and  please,  mixed  with 
the  love  of  display.*' 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  your  love  of  display,  allow- 
ing you  have  it,  would  be  forever  slain  by  your 
merely  refusing  to  sing  in  company  ?" 

*^  I  thought  that  might  give  it  a  pretty  hard 
blow,"  I  said,  "  if  not  its  death-blow." 

"  Meanwhile,  in  punishing  yourself  you  punish 
your  poor  innocent  friends,"  he  said  laughing.  "  No, 
child,  go  on  singing  ;  God  has  given  you  this  power 
of  entertaining  and  gratifying  your  friends.  But 
pray,  without  ceasing,  that  you  may  sing  from  pure 
benevolence  and  not  from  pure  self-love." 


68  Stepping  Heavenward 

'^  Why,  do  people  pray  about  such  things  as  that  ?" 
I  cried. 

'*  Of  course  they  do.  Why,  I  would  pray  about 
my  little  finger,  if  my  little  finger  went  astray." 

I  looked  at  his  little  finger,  but  saw  no  signs  of 
its  becoming  schismatic. 


Aug.  3. — This  morning  I  took  great  delight  in 
praying  for  my  little  scholars,  and  went  to  Sunday- 
school  as  on  wings.  But  on  reaching  my  seat,  what 
was  my  horror  to  find  Maria  Perry  there  ! 

"  Oh,  your  seat  is  changed,"  said  she.  '^  I  am  to 
have  half  your  class,  and  I  like  this  seat  better  than 
those  higher  up.     I  suppose  you  don't  care  ?" 

*'  But  I  do  care,"  I  returned  ;  "  and  you  have  taken 
my  very  best  children — the  very  sweetest  and  the 
very  prettiest.  I  shall  speak  to  Mr.  Williams  about 
it  directly." 

*^At  any  rate,  I  would  not  fly  into  such  a  fury," 
she  said.  "It  is  just  as  pleasant  to  me  to  have 
pretty  children  to  teach  as  it  is  to  you.  Mr.  Will- 
iams said  he  had  no  doubt  you  would  be  glad  to 
divide  your  class  with  me,  as  it  is  so  large  ;  and  I 
doubt  if  you  gain  anything  by  speaking  to  him." 

There  was  no  time  for  further  discussion,  as 
school  was  about  to  begin.  I  went  to  my  new  seat 
with  great  disgust,  and  found  it  very  inconvenient. 
The  children  could  not  cluster  around  me  as  they 
did  before,  and  I  got  on  with  the  lesson  very  badly. 
I  am  sure  Maria  Perry  has  no  gift  at  teaching  little 
children,  and   I  feel  quite  vexed  and  disappointed. 


Stepping  Heavenward  69 

This  has  not  been  a  profitable  Sunday,  and  I  am 
now  going  to  bed,  cheerless  and  uneasy. 

Aug.  9. — Mr.  Williams  called  this  evening  to  say 
that  I  am  to  have  my  old  seat  and  all  the  children 
again.  All  the  mothers  had  been  to  see  him,  or  had 
written  him  notes  about  it,  and  requested  that  I 
might  continue  to  teach  them.  Mr.  Williams  said 
he  hoped  I  would  go  on  teaching  for  twenty  years, 
and  that  as  fast  as  his  little  girls  grew  old  enough 
to  come  to  Sunday-school  he  should  want  me  to 
take  charge  of  them.  I  should  have  been  greatly 
elated  by  these  compliments,  but  for  the  display  I 
made  of  myself  to  Maria  Perry  on  Sunday.  Oh,  that 
I  could  learn  to  bridle  my  unlucky  tongue  ! 

Jan.  15, 1835. — To-day  I  am  twenty.  That  sounds 
very  old,  yet  I  feel  pretty  much  as  I  did  before.  I 
have  begun  to  visit  some  of  mother's  poor  folks  with 
her,  and  am  astonished  to  see  how  they  love  her, 
and  how  plainly  they  let  her  talk  to  them.  As  a  gen- 
eral rule,  I  do  not  think  poor  people  are  very  inter- 
esting, and  they  are  always  ungrateful. 

We  went  first  to  see  old  Jacob  Stone.  I  have  been 
there  a  good  many  times  with  the  baskets  of  nice 
things  mother  takes  such  comfort  in  sending  him, 
but  never  would  go  in.  I  was  shocked  to  see  how 
worn  away  he  was.  He  seemed  in  great  distress  of 
mind,  and  begged  mother  to  pray  with  him.  I  do 
not  see  how  she  could.  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  no 
earthly  power  could  ever  induce  me  to  go  round  pray- 
ing on  bare  floors,  with  people  sitting,  rocking  and 


yo  Stepping  Heavenward 

staring  all  the  time,  as  the  two  Stone  girls  stared  at 
mother.     How  tenderly  she  prayed  for  him  ! 

We  then  went  to  see  Susan  Green.  She  had  made 
a  carpet  for  her  room  by  sewing  together  little  bits 
of  pieces  given  her,  I  suppose,  by  persons  for  whom 
she  works,  for  she  goes  about  fitting  and  making 
carpets.  It  looked  bright  and  cheerful.  She  had  a 
nice  bed  in  the  corner,  covered  with  a  white  quilt, 
and  some  little  ornaments  were  arranged  about  the 
room.  Mother  complimented  her  on  her  neatness, 
and  said  a  queen  might  sleep  in  such  a  bed  as  that, 
and  hoped  she  found  it  as  comfortable  as  it  looked. 

**  Mercy  on  us  !  "  she  cried  out,  **  it  ain't  to  sleep  in! 
I  sleep  up  in  the  loft,  that  I  climb  to  by  a  ladder 
every  night." 

Mother  looked  a  little  amused,  and  then  she  sat 
and  listened,  patiently,  to  a  long  account  of  how  the 
poor  old  thing  had  invested  her  money ;  how  Mr. 
Jones  did  not  pay  the  interest  regularly,  and  how 
Mr.  Stevens  haggled  about  the  percentage.  After 
we  came  away,  I  asked  mother  how  she  could  listen 
to  such  a  rigmarole  in  patience,  and  what  good  she 
supposed  she  had  done  by  her  visit. 

"Why  the  poor  creature  likes  to  show  off  her 
bright  carpet  and  nice  bed,  her  chairs,  her  vases 
and  her  knick-knacks,  and  she  likes  to  talk  about 
her  beloved  money,  and  her  bank  stock.  1  may  not 
have  done  her  any  good;  but  I  have  given  her  a 
pleasure,  and  so  have  you.'* 

"  Why,  I  hardly  spoke  a  word.'* 

**  Yes,  but  your  mere  presence  gratified  her.  And 
if  she   ever  gets  into  trouble,  she  will  feel  kindly 


Stepping  Heavenward  71 

towards  us  for  the  sake  of  our  sympathy  with  her 
pleasures,  and  will  let  us  sympathize  with  her  sor- 
rows." 

I  confess  this  did  not  seem  a  privilege  to  be  cov- 
eted.    She  is  not  nice  at  all,  and  takes  snuff. 

We  went  next  to  see  Bridget  Shannon.  Mother 
had  lost  sight  of  her  for  some  years,  and  had  just 
heard  that  she  was  sick  and  in  great  want.  We 
found  her  in  bed;  there  was  no  furniture  in  the 
room,  and  three  little  half-naked  children  sat  with 
their  bare  feet  in  some  ashes  where  there  had  been 
a  little  fire.  Three  such  disconsolate  faces  I  never 
saw.  Mother  sent  me  to  the  nearest  baker's  for 
bread  ;  I  ran  nearly  all  the  way,  and  I  hardly  know 
which  I  enjoyed  most,  mother's  eagerness  in  distrib- 
uting, or  the  children's  in  clutching  at  and  devour- 
ing it.  I  am  going  to  cut  up  one  or  two  old  dresses 
to  make  the  poor  things  something  to  cover  them. 
One  of  them  has  lovely  hair  that  would  curl  beauti- 
fully if  it  were  only  brushed  out.  I  told  her  to  come 
to  see  me  to-morrow,  she  is  so  very  pretty. 

Those  few  visits  used  up  the  very  time  I  usually 
spend  in  drawing.  But  on  the  whole  I  am  glad 
I  went  with  mother,  because  it  has  gratified  her. 
Besides,  one  must  either  stop  reading  the  Bible 
altogether,  or  else  leave  off  spending  one's  whole 
time  in  just  doing  easy  pleasant  things  one  likes 
to  do. 

Jan.  20. — The  little  Shannon  girl  came,  and  T 
washed  her  face  and  hands,  brushed  out  her  hair 
and  made  it  curl  in  lovely  golden  ringlets  all  round 


72  Stepping  Heavenward 

her  sweet  face,  and  carried  her  in  great  triumph  to 
mother. 

"  Look  at  the  dear  little  thing,  mother  ! "  I  cried  ; 
*^  doesn't  she  look  like  a  line  of  poetry  ?  " 

*'You  foolish,  romantic  child!"  quoth  mother. 
"She  looks,  to  me,  like  a  very  ordinary  line  of 
prose.  A  slice  of  bread  and  butter  and  a  piece  of 
gingerbread  mean  more  to  her  than  these  elaborate 
ringlets  possibly  can.  They  get  in  her  eyes,  and 
make  her  neck  cold  ;  see,  they  are  dripping  with 
water,  and  the  child  is  all  in  a  shiver." 

So  saying,  mother  folded  a  towel  round  its  neck, 
to  catch  the  falling  drops,  and  went  for  bread  and 
butter,  of  which  the  child  consumed  a  quantity  that 
was  absolutely  appalling.  To  crown  all,  the  un- 
grateful little  thing  would  not  so  much  as  look  at 
,  me  from  that  moment,  but  clung  to  mother,  turning 
its  back  upon  me  in  supreme  contempt. 

Moral. — Mothers  occasionally  know  more  than 
their  daughters  do. 


VI. 


January  24. 

A  MESSAGE  came  yesterday  morning  from  Susan 
Green  to  the  effect  that  she  had  had  a  dreadful  fall, 
and  was  half  killed.  Mother  wanted  to  set  off  at 
once  to  see  her,  but  I  would  not  let  her  go,  as  she 
has  one  of  her  worst  colds.  She  then  asked  me  to 
go  in  her  place.  I  turned  up  my  nose  at  the  bare 
thought,  though  I  dare  say  it  turns  up  enough  on 
its  own  account. 

"Oh,  mother!*'  I  said,  reproachfully  that  dirty 
old  woman  ! '' 

Mother  made  no  answer,  and  I  sat  down  at  the 
piano,  and  played  a  little.  But  I  only  played  dis- 
cords. 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  my  duty  to  run  after  such  hor- 
rid old  women  ? "  I  asked  mother,  at  last. 

"I  think,  dear,  you  must  make  your  own  duties," 
she  said  kindly.  "  I  dare  say  that  at  your  age  I 
should  have  made  a  great  deal  out  of  my  personal 
repugnance  to  such  a  woman  as  Susan,  and  very 
little  out  of  her  sufferings." 

I  believe  I  am  the  most  fastidious  creature  in  the 
world.  Sick-rooms  with  their  intolerable  smells  of 
camphor,  and  vinegar  and  mustard,  their  gloom  and 
their  whines  and  their  groans,  actually  make  me 
shudder.     But  was  it  not   just  such  fastidiousness 

(73) 


74  Stepping  Heavenward 

that  made  Cha — no,  I  won't  utter  his  name — that 
made  somebody  weary  of  my  possibilities  ?  And 
has  that  terrible  lesson  really  done  me  no  good  ? 

Jan.  26. — No  sooner  had  I  written  the  above  than 
I  scrambled  into  my  cloak  and  bonnet,  and  flew,  on 
the  wings  of  holy  indignation,  to  Susan  Green. 
Such  wings  fly  fast,  and  got  me  a  little  out  of  breath. 
I  found  her  lying  on  that  nice  white  bed  of  hers,  in 
a  frilled  cap  and  night-gown.  It  seems  she  fell  from 
her  ladder  in  climbing  to  the  dismal  den  where  she 
sleeps,  and  lay  all  night  in  great  distress  with  some 
serious  internal  injury.  I  found  her  groaning  and 
complaining  in  a  fearful  way. 

"  Are  you  in  such  pain  ? "  I  asked,  as  kindly  as  I 
could. 

".It  isn't  the  pain,"  she  said,  "  it  isn't  the  pain. 
It's  the  way  my  nice  bed  is  going  to  wreck  and  ruin, 
and  the  starch  all  getting  out  of  my  frills  that  I 
fluted  with  my  own  hands.  And  the  doctor's  bill, 
and  the  medicines,  oh,  dear,  dear,  dear  !  " 

Just  then  the  doctor  came  in.  After  examining 
her,  he  said  to  a  woman  who  seemed  to  have  charge 
of  her  : 

"  Are  you  the  nurse  ?  " 

*^Oh,  no,  I  only  stepped  in  to  see  what  I  could  do 
for  her." 

"  Who  is  to  be  with  her  to-night,  then  ?" 

Nobody  knew. 

"  I  will  send  a  nurse,  then,"  he  said.  "  But  some 
one  else  will  be  needed  also,"  he  added,  looking  at 
me. 


Stepping  Heavenward  75 

"I  will  stay,"  I  said.  But  my  heart  died  within 
me. 

The  doctor  took  me  aside. 

"  Her  injuries  are  very  serious,"  he  said.  "If  she 
has  any  friends,  they  ought  to  be  sent  for." 

"  You  don't  mean  that  she  is  going  to  die  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  I  fear  she  is.  But  not  immediately."  He  took 
leave,  and  I  went  back  to  the  bedside.  I  saw  there 
no  longer  a  snuffy,  repulsive  old  woman,  but  a  hu- 
man being  about  to  make  that  mysterious  journey 
to  a  far  country  whence  there  is  no  return.  Oh, 
how  I  wished  mother  were  there  ! 

"Susan,"  I  said,  "have  you  any  relatives?" 

"No,  I  haven't,"  she  answered  sharply.  "And  if  I 
had  they  needn't  come  prowling  around  me.  I  don't 
want  no  relations  about  my  body." 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  Dr.  Cabot  ? " 

"What  should  I  want  of  Dr.  Cabot ?  Don't  tease, 
child." 

Considering  the  deference  with  which  she  had 
heretofore  treated  me,  this  was  quite  a  new  order 
of  things. 

I  sat  down  and  tried  to  pray  for  her,  silently,  in 
my  heart.  Who  was  to  go  with  her  on  that  long 
journey,  and  where  was  it  to  end  ? 

The  woman  who  had  been  caring  for  her  now 
went  away,  and  it  was  growing  dark.  I  sat  still 
listening  to  my  own  heart,  which  beat  till  it  half 
choked  me. 

"What  were  you  and  the  doctor  whispering 
about  ? "  she  suddenly  burst  out. 


76  Stepping  Heavenward 

"He  asked  me,  for  one  thing,  if  you  had  any 
friends  that  could  be  sent  for." 

"  I've  been  my  own  best  friend,"  she  returned. 
"Who'd  have  raked  and  scraped  and  hoarded  and 
counted  for  Susan  Green  if  I  hadn't  ha' done  it? 
I've  got  enough  to  make  me  comfortable  as  long  as 
I  live,  and  when  I  lie  on  my  dying  bed." 

"But  you  can't  carry  it  with  you,"  I  said.  This 
highly  original  remark  was  all  I  had  courage  to 
utter. 

"I  wish  I  could,"  she  cried.  "I  suppose  you 
think  I  talk  awful.  They  say  you  are  getting  most 
to  be  as  much  of  a  saint  as  your  ma.  It's  born  in 
some,  and  in  some  it  ain't.  Do  get  a  light.  It's 
lonesome  here  in  the  dark,  and  cold." 

I  was  thankful  enough  to  enliven  the  dark  room 
with  light  and  fire.  But  I  saw  now  that  the  thin, 
yellow,  hard  face  had  changed  sadly.  She  fixed 
her  two  little  black  eyes  on  me,  evidently  startled 
by  the  expression  of  my  face. 

"  Look  here,  child,  I  ain't  hurt  to  speak  of,  am  I  ? " 

"  The  doctor  says  you  are  hurt  seriously." 

My  tone  must  have  said  more  than  my  words 
did,  for  she  caught  me  by  the  wrist  and  held  me 
fast. 

"  He  didn't  say  nothing  about  my — about  its 
being  dangerous  ?     I  ain't  dangerous,  am  I  ? " 

I  felt  ready  to  sink. 

"Oh,  Susan!"  I  gasped  out;  "you  haven't  any 
time  to  lose.     You're  going,  you're  going  !  " 

"Going  !  "  she  cried  ;  "going  where?  You  don't 
mean    to   say  I'm   a-dying?     Why,  it  beats  all  my 


Stepping  Heavenward  J 7 

calculations.  I  was  going  to  live  ever  so  many- 
years,  and  save  up  ever  so  much  money,  and  then, 
when  my  time  come,  I  was  going  to  put  on  my  best 
fluted  night-gown  and  night-cap,  and  lay  my  head 
on  my  handsome  pillow,  and  draw  the  clothes  up 
over  me,  neat  and  tidy,  and  die  decent.  But  here's 
my  bed  all  in  a  toss,  and  my  frills  all  in  a  crumple, 
and  my  room  all  upside  down,  and  bottles  of  medi- 
cine setting  around  alongside  of  my  vases,  and 
nobody  here  but  you,  just  a  girl,  and  nothing  else!  " 

All  this  came  out  by  jerks,  as  it  were,  and  at 
intervals. 

"  Don't  talk  so  !  "  I  fairly  screamed.  "  Pray,  pray 
to  God  to  have  mercy  on  you  !  " 

She  looked  at  me,  bewildered,  but  yet  as  if  the 
truth  had  reached  her  at  last. 

"  Pray  yourself  ! "  she  said,  eagerly.  "  I  don't 
know  how.  I  can't  think.  Oh,  my  time's  come  ! 
my  time's  come  I  And  I  ain't  ready  !  I  ain't  ready  ! 
Get  down  on  your  knees  and  pray  with  all  your 
might  and  main." 

And  I  did;  she  holding  my  wrist  tightly  in  her 
hard  hand.  All  at  once  I  felt  her  hold  relax.  After 
that  the  next  thing  I  knew  I  was  lying  on  the  floor, 
and  somebody  was  dashing  water  in  my  face. 

It  was  the  nurse.  She  had  come  at  last,  and 
found  me  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  where  I  had  fallen, 
and  had  been  trying  to  revive  me  ever  since.  I 
started  up  and  looked  about  me.  The  nurse  was 
closing  Susan's  eyes  in  a  professional  way,  and  per- 
forming other  little  services  of  the  sort.  The  room 
wore    an    air    of    perfect    desolation.     The  clothes 


7^;  Steppmg  Heave7iward 

Susan  had  on  when  she  fell  lay  in  a  forlorn  heap  on 
a  chair ;  her  shoes  and  stockings  were  thrown 
hither  and  thither  ;  the  mahogany  bureau,  in  which 
she  had  taken  so  much  pride,  was  covered  with 
vials,  to  make  room  for  which  some  pretty  trifles 
had  been  hastily  thrust  aside.  I  remembered  what 
I  had  once  said  to  Mrs.  Cabot  about  having  tasteful 
things  about  me,  with  a  sort  of  shudder.  What  a 
mockery  they  are  in  the  awful  presence  of  death  ! 

Mother  met  me  with  open  arms  when  I  reached 
home.  She  was  much  shocked  at  what  I  had  to 
tell,  and  at  my  having  encountered  such  a  scene 
alone.  I  should  have  felt  myself  quite  a  heroine 
under  her  caresses  if  I  had  not  been  overcome  with 
bitter  regret  that  I  had  not,  with  firmness  and  dig- 
nity, turned  poor  Susan's  last  thoughts  to  her 
Saviour.  Oh,  how  could  I,  through  miserable  cow- 
ardice, let  those  precious  moments  slip  by ! 

Feb.  27. — I  have  learned  one  thing  by  yesterday's' 
experience  that  is  worth  knowing.  It  is  this  :  duty 
looks  more  repelling  at  a  distance  than  when  fairly 
faced  and  met.     Of  course  I  have  read  the  lines, 

*  ^  Nor  know  we  anything  so  fair 
As  is  the  smile  upon  thy  face  ; " 

but  I  seem  to  be  one  of  the  stupid  sort,  who  never 
apprehend  a  thing  till  they  experience  it.  Now, 
however,  I  have  seen  the  smile,  and  find  it  so  "fair," 
that  I  shall  gladly  plod  through  many  a  hardship 
and  trial  to  meet  it  again.  -  . 


Stepping  Heavenward  79 

Poor  Susan !  Perhaps  God  heard  my  eager 
prayer  for  her  soul,  and  revealed  Himself  to  Jier  at 
the  very  last  moment. 

March  2. — Such  a  strange  thing  has  happened  ! 
Susan  Green  left  a  will,  bequeathing  her  precious 
savings  to  whoever  offered  the  last  prayer  in  her 
hearing  !  I  do  not  want,  I  never  could  touch  a 
penny  of  that  hardly-earned  store  ;  and  if  I  did,  no 
earthly  motive  would  tempt  me  to  tell  a  human  be- 
ing, that  it  was  offered  by  me,  an  inexperienced, 
trembling  girl,  driven  to  it  by  mere  desperation  ! 
So  it  has  gone  to  Dr,  Cabot,  who  will  not  use  it  for 
himself,  I  am  sure,  but  will  be  delighted  to  have  it 
to  give  to  poor  people,  who  really  besiege  him. 
The  last  time  he  called  to  see  her  he  talked  and 
prayed  with  her,  and  says  she  seemed  pleased  and 
grateful,  and  promised  to  be  more  regular  at  church, 
which  she  had  been,  ever  since. 

March  28. — -I  feel  all  out  of  sorts.  Mother  says 
it  is  owing  to  the  strain  I  went  through  at  Susan's 
dying  bed.  She  wants  me  to  go  to  visit  my  aunt 
Mary,  who  is  always  urging  me  to  come.  But  I  do 
not  like  to  leave  my  little  Sunday  scholars,  nor  to 
give  mother  the  occasion  to  deny  herself  in  order 
to  meet  the  expense  of  such  a  long  journey.  Be- 
sides, I  should  have  to  have  some  new  dresses,  a 
new  bonnet,  and  lots  of  things. 

To-day  Dr.  Cabot  has  sent  me  some  directions  for 
which  I  have  been  begging  him  a  long  time.  Lest 
I  should  wear  out  this  precious  letter  by  reading  it 


8o  Stepping  Heavenward 

over,  I  will  copy  it  here.  After  alluding  to  my  com- 
plaint that  I  still  "  saw  men  as  trees  walking,"  he 
says  : 

"Yet  he  who  first  uttered  this  complaint  had  had 
his  eyes  opened  by  the  Son  of  God,  and  so  have  you. 
Now  He  never  leaves  His  work  incomplete,  and  He 
will  gradually  lead  you  into  clear  and  open  vision, 
if  you  will  allow  Him  to  do  it.  I  say  gradually^  be- 
cause I  believe  this  to  be  His  usual  method,  while  I 
do  not  deny  that  there  are  cases  where  light  sud- 
denly bursts  in  like  a  flood.  To  return  to  the  blind 
man.  When  Jesus  found  that  his  cure  was  not 
complete.  He  put  His  hands  again  upon  his  eyes, 
and  made  him  look  up  ;  and  he  was  restored,  and 
saw  every  man  clearly.  Now  this  must  be  done  for 
you  ;  and  in  order  to  have  it  done  you  must  go  to 
Christ  Himself,  not  to  one  of  His  servants.  Make 
your  complaint,  tell  Him  how  obscure  everything 
still  iooks  to  you,  and  beg  Him  to  complete  your 
cure.  He  may  see  fit  to  try  your  faith  and  patience 
by  delaying  this  completion;  but  meanwhile  you 
are  safe  in  His  presence,  and  while  led  by  His  hand. 
He  will  excuse  the  mistakes  you  make,  and  pity 
your  falls.  But  you  will  imagine  that  it  is  best  that 
He  should  at  once  enable  you  to  see  clearly.  If  it  is, 
you  may  be  sure  He  will  do  it.  He  never  makes 
mistakes.  But  He  often  deals  far  differently  with 
His  disciples.  He  lets  them  grope  their  way  in  the 
dark  until  they  fully  learn  how  blind  they  are,  how 
helpless,  how  absolutely  in  need  of  Him. 

"  What  His  methods  will  be  with  you  I  cannot 
foretell.     But  you  may  be  sure  that  He  never  works 


Stepping  Heavenward  8i 

in  an  arbitrary  way.  He  has  a  reason  for  every- 
thing He  does.  You  may  not  understand  why  He 
leads  you  now  in  this  way  and  now  in  that,  but  you 
may,  nay,  you  must  believe  that  perfection  is  stamped 
on  His  every  act. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  are  in  danger  of  falling  into 
an  error  only  too  common  among  young  Christians. 
You  acknowledge  that  there  has  been  enmity  to- 
wards God  in  your  secret  soul,  and  that  one  of  the 
first  steps  towards  peace  is  to  become  reconciled  to 
Him  and  to  have  your  sins  forgiven  for  Christ's 
sake.  This  done,  you  settle  down  with  the  feeling 
that  the  great  work  of  life  is  done,  and  that  your  sal- 
vation is  sure.  Or,  if  not  sure,  that  your  whole  busi- 
ness is  to  study  your  own  case  to  see  whether  you 
are  really  in  a  state  of  grace.  Many  persons  never 
get  beyond  this  point.  They  spend  their  whole  time 
in  asking  the  question  : 

•*  *  Do  I  love  the  Lord  or  no  ? 
Am  I  His  or  am  I  not  ? ' 

**'  I  beg  you,  my  dear  child,  if  you  are  doing  this 
aimless,  useless  work,  to  stop  short  at  once.  Life  is 
too  precious  to  spend  in  a  tread-mill.  Having  been 
pardoned  by  your  God  and  Saviour,  the  next  thing 
you  have  to  do  is  to  show  your  gratitude  for  this  in- 
finite favor  by  consecrating  yourself  entirely  to  Him, 
body,  soul,  and  spirit.  This  is  the  least  you  can  do. 
He  has  bought  you  with  a  price,  and  you  are  no 
longer  your  own.  *  But/  you  may  reply,  *  this  is 
contrary  to  my  nature.     I  love  my  own  way.     I  de- 


82  Stepping  Heavenward 

sire  ease  and  pleasure  ;  I  desire  to  go  to  heaven,  but 
I  want  to  be  carried  thither  on  a  bed  of  flowers. 
Can  I  not  give  myself  so  far  to  God  as  to  feel  a 
sweet  sense  of  peace  with  Him,  and  be  sure  of  final 
salvation,  and  yet,  to  a  certain  extent,  indulge  and 
gratify  myself  ?  If  I  give  myself  entirely  away  to 
Him,  and  lose  all  ov/nership  in  myself.  He  may  deny 
me  many  things  I  greatly  desire.  He  may  make  my 
life  hard  and  wearisome,  depriving  me  of  all  that 
now  makes  it  agreeable/  But,  I  reply,  this  is  no 
matter  of  parley  and  discussion  ;  it  is  not  optional 
with  God's  children  whether  they  will  pay  Him  a 
part  of  the  price  they  owe  Him,  and  keep  back  the 
rest.  He  asks,  and  He  has  a  right  to  ask,  for  all  you 
have  and  all  you  are.  And  if  you  shrink  from  what 
is  involved  in  such  a  surrender,  you  should  fly  to 
Him  at  once  and  never  rest  till  He  has  conquered 
this  secret  disinclination  to  give  to  Him  as  freely 
and  as  fully  as  He  has  given  to  you.  It  is  true  that 
such  an  act  of  consecration  on  your  part  may  in- 
volve no  little  future  discipline  and  correction.  As 
soon  as  you  become  the  Lord's  by  your  own  delib- 
erate and  conscious  act,  He  will  begin  that  process 
of  sanctification  which  is  to  make  you  holy  as  He  is 
holy,  perfect  as  He  is  perfect.  He  becomes  at  once 
your  Physician  as  well  as  your  dearest  and  best 
Friend,  but  He  will  use  no  painful  remedy  that  can 
be  avoided.  Remember  that  it  is  His  will  that  you 
should  be  sanctified,  and  that  the  work  of  making 
you  holy  is  His,  not  yours.  At  the  same  time  you 
are  not  to  sit  with  folded  hands,  waiting  for  this 
blessing.     You   are  to  avoid    laying  hindrances  in 


Stepping  Heavenward  83 

His  way,  and  you  are  to  exercise  faith  in  Him  as  just 
as  able  and  just  as  willing  to  give  you  sanctification 
as  He  was  to  give  you  redemption.  And  now  if  you 
ask  how  you  may  know  that  you  have  truly  conse- 
crated yourself  to  Him,  I  reply,  observe  every  indi- 
cation of  His  will  concerning  you,  no  matter  how 
trivial,  and  see  whether  you  at  once  close  in  with 
that  will.  Lay  down  this  principle  as  a  law — God 
does  nothing  arbitrary.  If  He  takes  away  your 
health,  for  instance,  it  is  because  He  has  some  rea- 
son  for  doing  so  ;  and  this  is  true  of  everything  you 
value  ;  and  if  you  have  real  faith  in  Him  you  will 
not  insist  on  knowing  this  reason.  If  you  find,  in 
the  course  of  daily  events,  that  your  self-consecra- 
tion was  not  perfect — that  is,  that  your  will  revolts 
at  His  will — do  not  be  discouraged,  but  fly  to  your 
Saviour  and  stay  in  His  presence  till  you  obtain  the 
spirit  in  which  He  cried  in  His  hour  of  anguish, 
*  Father,  if  Thou  be  willing,  remove  this  cup  from 
me  :  nevertheless,  not  my  will  but  Thine  be  done.' 
Every  time  you  do  this  it  will  be  easier  to  do  it ; 
every  such  consent  to  suffer  will  bring  you  nearer 
and  nearer  to  Him  ;  and  in  this  nearness  to  Him 
you  will  find  such  peace,  such  blessed,  sweet  peace, 
as  will  make  your  life  infinitely  happy,  no  matter 
what  may  be  its  mere  outside  conditions.  Just 
think,  my  dear  Katy,  of  the  honor  and  the  joy  of 
having  your  will  on-e  with  the  Divine  will,  and  so 
becoming  changed  into  Christ's  image  from  glory  to 
glory  ! 

"  But  I  cannot  say,  in  a  letter,  the  tithe  of  what  I 
want  to  say.     Listen  to  my  sermons  from  w^eek  to 


84  Stepping  Heavenward 

week,  and  glean  from  them  all  the  instruction  you 
can,  remembering  that  they  are  preached  \.o  you. 

"  In  reading  the  Bible  I  advise  you  to  choose  de- 
tached passages,  or  even  one  verse  a  day,  rather 
than  whole  chapters.  Study  every  word,  ponder  and 
pray  over  it  till  you  have  got  out  of  it  all  the  truth 
it  contains. 

*^  As  to  the  other  devotional  reading,  it  is  better  to 
settle  down  on  a  few  favorite  authors,  and  read  their 
works  over  and  over  and  over  until  you  have  di- 
gested their  thoughts  and  made  them  your  own. 

"  It  has  been  said  *  that  a  fi^ed,  inflexible  will  is  a 
great  assistance  in  a  holy  life/ 

^'  You  can  will  to  choose  for  your  associates  those 
who  are  most  devout  and  holy. 

^'  You  can  will  to  read  books  that  will  stimulate 
you  in  your  Christian  life,  rather  than  those  that 
merely  amuse. 

'*You  can  will  to  use  every  means  of  grace  ap- 
pointed by  God. 

"  You  can  will  to  spend  much  time  in  prayer,  with- 
out regard  to  your  frame  at  the  moment. 

"  You  can  will  to  prefer  a  religion  of  principle  to 
one  of  mere  feeling  ;  in  other  words,  to  obey  the 
will  of  God  when  no  comfortable  glow  of  emotion 
accompanies  your  obedience. 

"You  cannot  will  to  possess  the  spirit  of  Christ ; 
that  must  come  as  His  gift;  but  you  can  choose  to 
study  His  life,  and  to  imitate  it.  This  will  infallibly 
lead  to  such  self-denying  work  as  visiting  the  poor, 
nursing  the  sick,  giving  of  your  time  and  money  to 
the  needy,  and  the  like. 


Stepping  Heavenward  85 

"  If  the  thought  of  such  self-denial  is  repugnant 
to  you,  remember  that  it  is  enough  for  the  disciple 
to  be  as  his  Lord.  And  let  me  assure  you  that  as 
you  penetrate  the  labyrinth  of  life  in  pursuit  of 
Christian  duty,  you  will  often  be  surprised  and 
charmed  by  meeting  your  Master  Himself  amid  its 
windings  and  turnings,  and  receive  His  soul-inspir- 
ing smile.  Or,  I  should  rather  say,  you  will  always 
meet  Him  wherever  you  go." 

I  have  read  this  letter  again  and  again.  It  has 
taken  such  hold  of  me  that  I  can  think  of  nothing 
else.  The  idea  of  seeking  holiness  had  never  so 
much  as  crossed  my  mind.  And  even  now  it  seems 
like  presumption  for  such  a  one  as  I  to  utter  so  sa- 
cred a  word.  And  I  shrink  from  committing  my- 
self to  such  a  pursuit,  lest  after  a  time  I  should  fall 
back  into  the  old  routine.  And  I  have  an  unde- 
fined, wicked  dread  of  being  singular,  as  well  as  a 
certain  terror  of  self-denial  and  loss  of  all  liberty. 
But  no  choice  seems  left  to  me.  Now  that  my  duty 
has  been  clearly  pointed  out  to  me,  I  do  not  stand 
where  I  did  before.  And  I  feel,  mingled  with  my 
indolence  and  love  of  ease  and  pleasure,  some  draw- 
ings towards  a  higher  and  better  life.  There  is  one 
thing  I  can  do,  and  that  is  to  pray  that  Jesus  would 
do  for  me  what  He  did  for  the  blind  man — put  His 
hands  yet  again  upon  my  eyes  and  make  me  to  see 
clearly.     And  I  will. 

March  30. — Yes,  I  have  prayed,  and  He  has  heard 
me.  I  see  that  I  have  no  right  to  live  for  myself, 
and  that  I  must  live  for  Him.     I  have  given  myself 


86  Stepping  Heavenward 

to  Him  as  I  never  did  before,  and  have  entered,  as 
it  were,  a  new  world.  I  was  very  happy  when  I 
first  began  to  believe  in  His  love  for  me,  and  that 
He  had  redeemed  me.  But  this  new  happiness  is 
deeper ;  it  involves  something  higher  than  get- 
ting to  heaven  at  last,  which  has,  hitherto,  been  my 
great  aim. 

March  31. — The  more  I  pray,  and  the  more  I  read 
the  Bible,  the  more  I  feel  my  ignorance.  And  the 
more  earnestly  1  desire  holiness,  the  more  utterly 
unholy  I  see  myself  to  be.  But  I  have  pledged  my- 
self to  the  Lord,  and  I  must  pay  my  vows,  cost  what 
it  may. 

I  have  begun  to  read  Taylor's  "  Holy  Living  and 
Dying."  A  month  ago  I  should  have  found  it  a  te- 
dious, dry  book.  But  I  am  reading  it  with  a  sort 
of  avidity,  like  one  seeking  after  hid  treasure. 
Mother,  observing  what  I  was  doing,  advised  me 
not  to  read  it  straight  through,  but  to  mingle  a  pas- 
sage now  and  then  with  chapters  from  other  books. 
She  suggested  my  beginning  on  Baxter's  '*  Saints' 
Rest,"  and  of  that  I  have  read  every  word.  I  shall 
read  it  over,  as  Dr.  Cabot  advised,  till  I  have  fully 
caught  its  spirit.  Even  this  one  reading  has  taken 
away  my  lingering  fear  of  death,  and  made  heaven 
wonderfully  attractive.  I  never  mean  to  read 
worldly  books  again,  and  my  music  and  drawing  I 
have  given  up  forever. 


VII. 


April  i. 


Mother  asked  me  last  evening  to  sing  and  play 
to  her.  I  was  embarrassed  to  know  how  to  ex- 
cuse myself  without  telling  her  my  real  reason  for 
declining.     But  somehow  she  got  it  out  of  me. 

^*  One  need  not  be  fanatical  in  order  to  be  relig- 
ious," she  said. 

"Is  it  fanatical  to  give  up  all  for  God?"  I  asked. 

"What  is  it  to  give  up  all  ?  "  she  asked,  in  reply. 

"  Why,  to  deny  one's  self  every  gratification  and 
indulgence  in  order  to  mortify  one's  natural  incli- 
nations, and  to  live  entirely  for  Him." 

"  God  is  then  a  hard  Master,  who  allows  His 
children  no  liberty,"  she  replied.  "  Now  let  us  see 
where  this  theory  will  lead  you.  In  the  first  place 
you  must  shut  your  eyes  to  all  the  beautiful  things 
He  has  made.  You  must  shut  your  eyes  to  all  the 
harmonies  He  has  ordained.  You  must  shut  your 
heart  against  all  sweet  human  affections.  You 
have  a  body,  it  is  true,  and  it  may  revolt  at  such 
bondage — " 

"  We  are  told  to  keep  under  the  body,"  I  inter- 
rupted. "Oh,  mother,  don't  hinder  me  !  You  know 
that  my  love  for  music  is  2i passion,  and  that  it  is  my 
snare  and   temptation.     And  how  can   I  spend  my 

(87) 


88  Stepping  Heavenward 

whole  time  in  reading  the  Bible  and  praying,  if  I  go 
on  with  my  drawing  ?  It  may  do  for  other  people 
to  serve  both  God  and  Mammon,  but  not  for  me.  I 
must  belong  wholly  to  the  world  or  wholly  to 
Christ." 

Mother  said  no  more,  and  I  went  on  with  my  read- 
ing. But  somehow  my  book  seemed  to  have  lost  its 
flavor.  Besides,  it  was  time  to  retire  for  my  evening 
devotions,  which  I  never  put  off  now  till  the  last 
thing  at  night,  as  I  used  to  do.  When  I  came  down, 
mother  was  lying  on  the  sofa,  by  which  I  knew  she 
was  not  well.  I  felt  troubled  that  I  had  refused  to 
sing  to  her.  Think  of  the  money  she  had  spent  on 
that  part  of  my  education  !  I  went  to  her  and  kissed 
her  with  a  pang  of  terror.  What  if  she  were  going 
to  be  very  sick,  and  to  die  ? 

"  It  is  nothing,  darling,"  she  said,  "  nothing  at  all. 
I  am  tired,  and  felt  a  little  faint." 

I  looked  at  her  anxiously,  and  the  bare  thought 
that  she  might  die  and  leave  me  alone  was  so  ter- 
rible that  I  could  hardly  help  crying  out.  And  I 
saw,  as  by  a  flash  of  lightning,  that  if  God  took 
her  from  me,  I  could  not,  should  not  say  :  Thy  will 
be  done. 

But  she  was  better  after  taking  a  few  drops  of 
lavender,  and  what  color  she  has  came  back  to  her 
dear,  sweet  face. 

April  12. — Dr.  Cabot's  letter  has  lost  all  its  power 
over  me.  A  stone  has  more  feeling  than  I.  I  don't 
love  to  pray.  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  this  dreadful 
struggle  after  holiness  ;  good  books  are  all  alike, 


Stepping  Heavenward  89 

flat  and  meaningless.  But  I  must  have  something 
to  absorb  and  carry  me  away,  and  I  have  come  back 
to  my  music  and  my  drawing  with  new  zest.  Mother 
was  right  in  warning  me  against  giving  them  up, 
Maria  Kelley  is  teaching  me  to  paint  in  oil-colors, 
and  says  I  have  a  natural  gift  for  it. 

April  13. — Mother  asked  me  to  go  to  church  with 
her  last  evening,  and  I  said  I  did  not  want  to  go. 
She  looked  surprised  and  troubled. 

**  Are  you  not  well,  dear?"  she  asked. 

"I  don't  know.  Yes.  I  suppose  I  am.  But  I 
could  not  be  still  at  church  five  minutes.  I  am  so 
nervous  that  I  feel  as  if  I  should  fly." 

**  I  see  how  it  is,"  she  said  ;  "  you  have  forgotten 
that  body  of  yours,  of  which  I  reminded  you,  and 
have  been  trying  to  live  as  if  you  were  all  soul  and 
spirit.  You  have  been  straining  every  nerve  to  ac- 
quire perfection,  whereas  this  is  God's  gift,  and  one 
that  He  is  willing  to  give  you,  fully  and  freely." 

"  I  have  done  seeking  for  that  or  anything  else 
that  is  good,"  I  said,  despondently.  "  And  so  I  have 
gone  back  to  my  music  and  everything  else." 

''  Here  is  just  the  rock  upon  which  you  split,"  she 
returned.  **  You  speak  of  going  back  to  your  music 
as  if  that  implied  going  away  from  God.  You  rush 
from  one  extrem.e  to  another.  The  only  true  way 
to  live  in  this  world,  constituted  just  as  we  are,  is  to 
make  all  our  employments  subserve  the  one  great 
end  and  aim  of  existence,  namely,  to  glorify  God 
and  to  enjoy  Him  forever.  But  in  order  to  do  this 
we  must  be  wise  task-masters,  and  not  require  of 


90  Stepping  Heavenward 

ourselves  what  we  cannot  possibly  perform.  Rec- 
reation we  must  have.  Otherwise  the  strings  of  our 
soul,  wound  up  to  an  unnatural  tension,  will  break." 

"  Oh,  I  do  wish,"  I  cried,  "  that  God  had  given  us 
plain  rules,  about  which  we  could  make  no  mis- 
take !" 

"  I  think  His  rules  are  plain,"  she  replied.  "  And 
some  liberty  of  action  He  must  leave  us,  or  we 
should  become  mere  machines.  I  think  that  those 
who  love  Him,  and  wait  upon  Him  day  by  day,  learn 
His  will  almost  imperceptibly,  and  need  not  go 
astray.'* 

**  But,  mother,  music  and  drawing  are  sharp- 
edged  tools  in  such  hands  as  mine.  I  cannot  be 
moderate  in  my  use  of  them.  And  the  more  I  de- 
light in  them,  the  less  I  delight  in  God." 

"Yes,  this  is  human  nature.  But  God's  divine 
nature  will  supplant  it,  if  we  only  consent  to  let 
Him  work  in  us  of  His  own  good  pleasure." 

New  York,  April  i6. — After  all,  mother  has  come 
off  conqueror,  and  here  I  am  at  Aunty's.  After  our 
quiet,  plain  little  home,  in  our  quiet  little  town,  this 
seems  like  a  new  world.  The  house  is  large,  but  it 
is  as  full  as  it  can  hold.  Aunty  has  six  children  of 
her  own,  and  has  adopted  two.  She  says  she  al- 
ways meant  to  imitate  the  old  woman  who  lived  in 
a  shoe.  She  reminds  me  of  mother,  and  yet  she  is 
very  different  ;  full  of  fun  and  energy  ;  flying  about 
the  house  as  on  wings,  with  a  kind,  bright  word  for 
everybody.  All  her  household  affairs  go  on  like 
clock-work  ;  the  children  are  always  nicely  dressed  ; 


**  Auoty  says  I  sit  thinking  too  much." 


Stepping  Heavenward  91 

nobody  ever  seems  out  of  humor  ;  nobody  is  ever 
sick.  Aunty  is  the  central  object  round  which  every- 
body revolves  ;  you  can't  forget  her  a  moment,  for 
she  is  always  doing  something  for  you,  and  then  her 
unflagging  good  humor  and  cheerfulness  keep  you 
good-humored  and  cheerful.  I  don't  wonder  Uncle 
Alfred  loves  her  so. 

I  hope  I  shall  have  just  such  a  home.  I  mean 
this  is  the  sort  of  home  I  should  like  if  I  ever  mar- 
ried, which  I  never  mean  to  do.  I  should  like  to  be 
just  such  a  bright,  loving  wife  as  Aunty  is  ;  to  have 
my  husband  lean  on  me  as  Uncle  leans  on  her  ;  to 
have  just  as  many  children,  and  to  train  them  as 
wisely  and  kindly  us  she  does  hers.  Then,  indeed, 
I  should  feel  that  I  had  not  been  born  in  vain,  but 
had  a  high  and  sacred  mission  on  earth.  But  as  it 
is,  I  must  just  pick  up  what  scraps  of  usefulness  I 
can,  and  let  the  rest  go. 

April  18. — Aunty  says  I  sit  writing  and  reading 
and  thinking  too  much,  and  wants  me  to  go  out 
more.  I  tell  her  I  don't  feel  strong  enough  to  go 
out  much.  She  says  that  is  all  nonsense,  and  drags 
me  out.  I  get  tired,  and  hungry,  and  sleep  like  a 
baby  a  month  old.  I  see  now  mother's  wisdom  and 
kindness  in  making  me  leave  home  when  I  did.  I 
had  veered  about  from  point  to  point  till  I  was 
nearly  ill.  Now  Aunty  keeps  me  well  by  making 
me  go  out,  and  dear  Dr.  Cabot's  precious  letter  can 
work  a  true  and  not  a  morbid  work  in  my  soul.  I 
am  very  happy.  I  have  delightful  talks  with  Aunty, 
who  sets  me  right  at  this  point  and  at  that ;  and  it 


92  Stepping  Heavenward  , 

is  beautiful  to  watch  her  home-life  and  to  see  with 
what  sweet  unconsciousness  she  carries  her  religion 
into  every  detail.  I  am  sure  it  must  do  me  good  to 
be  here ;  and  yet,  if  I  am  growing  better,  how 
slowly,  how  slowly,  it  is  !  Somebody  has  said  that 
**our  course,  heavenward  is  like  the  plan  of  the  zeal- 
ous pilgrims  of  old,  who  for  every  three  steps  for- 
ward, took  one  backward.'* 

April  30. — Aunty's  baby,  my  dear  father's  name- 
sake, and  hitherto  the  merriest  little  fellow  I  ever 
saw,  was  taken  sick  last  night,  very  suddenly.  She 
sent  for  the  doctor  at  once,  who  would  not  say  posi- 
tively what  was  the  matter,  but  this  morning  pro- 
nounced it  scarlet  fever.  The  three  youngest  have 
all  come  down  with  it  to-day.  If  they  were  my 
children,  I  should  be  in  a  perfect  worry  and  flurry. 
Indeed,  I  am  as  it  is.  But  Aunty  is  as  bright  and 
cheerful  as  ever.  She  flies  from  one  to  another,  and 
keeps  up  their  spirits  with  her  own  gayety.  I  am 
mortified  to  find  that  at  such  a  time  as  this  I  can 
think  of  myself,  and  that  I  find  it  irksome  to  be  shut 
up  in  sick-rooms,  instead  of  walking,  driving,  visit- 
ing, and  the  like.  But,  as  Dr.  Cabot  says,  I  can 
now  choose  to  imitate  my  Master,  who  spent  His 
whole  life  in  doing  good,  and  I  do  hope,  too,  to  be 
of  some  little  use  to  Aunty,  after  her  kindness  to 
me. 

May  I. — The  doctor  says  the  children  are  doing 
as  well  as  could  be  expected.  He  made  a  short 
visit  this  morning,  as  it  is  Sunday.     If  I  had  ever 


Stepping  Heavenward  93 

seen  him  before  I  should  say  I  had  some  unpleasant 
association  with  him.  I  wonder  Aunty  employs 
such  a  great  clumsy  man.  But  she  says  he  is  very 
good,  and  very  skillful.  I  wish  I  did  not  take  such 
violent  likes  and  dislikes  to  people.  I  want  my  re- 
ligion to  change  me  in  every  respect. 

May  2. — Oh,  I  know  now  !  This  is  the  very  man 
who  was  so  rude  at  Sunday-school,  and  afterwards 
made  such  a  nice  address  to  the  children.  Well  he 
may  know  how  to  speak  in  public,  but  I  am  sure  he 
doesn't  in  private.  I  never  knew  such  a  shut-up 
man. 

May  4. — I  have  my  hands  as  full  as  they  can  hold. 
The  children  have  got  so  fond  of  me,  and  one  or  the 
other  is  in  my  lap  nearly  all  the  time.  I  sing  to 
them,  tell  them  stories,  build  block-houses,  and  re- 
lieve Aunty  all  I  can.  Dull  and  poky  as  the  doctor 
is,  I  am  not  afraid  of  him,  for  he  never  notices  any- 
thing I  say  or  do,  so  while  he  is  holding  solemn 
consultations  with  Aunty  in  one  corner,  I  can  sing 
and  talk  all  sorts  of  nonsense  to  my  little  pets  in 
mine.  What  fearful  black  eyes  he  has,  and  what 
masses  of  black  hair  ! 

This  busy  life  quite  suits  me,  now  I  have  got  used 
to  it.  And  it  sweetens  every  bit  of  work  to  think 
that  I  am  doing  it  in  humble,  far-off,  yet  real  imi- 
tation of  Jesus.  I  am  indeed  really  and  truly 
happy. 

May  14. — It  is  now  two  weeks  since  little  Ray- 


94  Stepping  Heavenward 

mond  was  taken  sick,  and  I  have  just  lived  in  the 
nursery  all  the  time,  though  Aunty  has  tried  to 
make  me  go  out.  Little  Emma  was  taken  down  to- 
day, though  she  has  been  kept  on  the  third  floor  all 
the  time.  I  feel  dreadfully  myself.  But  this  hard^ 
cold  doctor  of  Aunty's  is  so  taken  up  with  the  child- 
ren  that  he  never  so  much  as  looks  at  me.  I  have 
been  in  a  perfect  shiver  all  day,  but  these  merciless 
little  folks  call  for  stories  as  eagerly  as  ever.  Well, 
let  me  be  a  comfort  to  them  if  I  can  !  I  hate  selfish- 
ness more  and  more,  and  am  shocked  to  see  how 
selfish  I  have  been. 

May  15. — I  was  in  a  burning  fever  all  night,  and 
my  head  ached,  and  my  throat  was  and  is  very  sore. 
If  I  knew  I  was  going  to  die  I  would  burn  up  this 
journal  first.  I  would  not  have  any  one  see  it  for 
the  world. 

May  24. — Dr.  Elliott  asked  me  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing a  w^eek  ago  if  I  still  felt  well.  For  answer  I 
behaved  like  a  goose,  and  burst  out  crying.  Aunty 
looked  more  anxious  than  I  have  seen  her  look  yet, 
and  reproached  herself  for  having  allowed  me  to  be 
with  the  children.  She  took  me  by  one  elbow,  and 
the  doctor  by  the  other,  and  they  marched  me  off  to 
my  own  room,  where  I  was  put  through  the  usual 
routine  on  such  occasions,  and  then  ordered  to  bed. 
T  fell  asleep  immediately  and  slept  all  day.  The 
doctor  came  to  see  me  in  the  evening,  and  made  me 
a  short,  stiff  little  visit,  gave  me  a  powder,  and  said 
he  thought  I  should  soon  be  better. 


Stepping  Heavenward  95 

I  had  two  such  visits  from  him  the  next  day,  when 
I  began  to  feel  quite  like  myself  again,  and  in  spite 
of  his  grave,  staid  deportment,  could  not  help  let- 
ting my  good  spirits  run  away  v/ith  me  in  a  style 
that  evidently  shocked  him.  He  says  persons  nurs- 
ing in  scarlet  fever  often  have  such  little  attacks  as 
mine  ;  indeed  every  one  of  the  servants  have  had  a 
touch  of  sore  throat  and  headache. 

May  25. — This  morning,  just  as  the  doctor  shuf- 
fled in  on  his  big  feet,  it  came  over  me  how  ridicu- 
lously I  must  have  looked  the  day  I  was  taken  sick, 
being  walked  off  between  Aunty  and  himself,  crying 
like  a  baby.  I  burst  out  laughing,  and  no  consider- 
ation I  could  make  to  myself  would  stop  me.  I 
pinched  myself,  asked  myself  how  I  should  feel  if 
one  of  the  children  should  die,  and  used  other  kin- 
dred devices  all  to  no  purpose.  At  last  the  doctor, 
gravity  personified  as  he  is,  joined  in,  though  not 
knowing  in  the  least  what  he  was  laughing  at.  Then 
he  said, 

**  After  this,  I  suppose,  I  shall  have  to  pronounce 
you  convalescent." 

"  Oh,  no  !"  I  cried.     "  I  am  very  sick  indeed." 

"This  looks  like  it,  to  be  sure  !"  said  Aunty. 

"  I  suppose  this  will  be  your  last  visit,  Dr.  Elliott," 
I  went  on,  "  and  I  am  glad  of  it.  After  the  way  I 
behaved  the  day  I  was  taken  sick,  I  have  been 
ashamed  to  look  you  in  the  face.  But  I  really  felt 
dreadfully." 

He  made  no  answer  whatever.  I  don*t  suppose 
he  would  speak  a  little  flattering  word  by  way  of 


96  Stepping  Heavenward 

putting  one  in  good  humor  with  one's  self  for  the 
whole  world  ! 

June  i. — We  are  all  as  well  as  ever,  but  the  doctor 
keeps  some  of  the  children  still  confined  to  the 
house  for  fear  of  bad  consequences  following  the 
fever.  He  visits  them  twice  a  day  for  the  same 
reason,  or  at  least  under  that  pretense,  but  I  really 
believe  he  comes  because  he  has  got  the  habit  of 
coming,  and  because  he  admires  Aunty  so  much. 
She  has  a  real  affection  for  him,  and  is  continually 
asking  me  if  I  don't  like  this  and  that  quality  in  him 
which  I  can't  see  at  all.  We  begin  to  drive  out 
again.  The  weather  is  very  warm,  but  I  feel  per- 
fectly well. 

June  2, — After  the  children's  dinner  to-day  I  took 
care  of  them  while  their  nurse  got  hers  and  Aunty 
went  to  lie  down,  as  she  is  all  tired  out.  We  were 
all  full  of  life  and  fun,  and  some  of  the  little  ones 
wanted  me  to  play  a  play  of  their  own  invention, 
which  was  to  lie  down  on  the  floor,  cover  my  face 
with  a  handkerchief,  and  make  believe  1  was  dead. 
They  were  to  gather  about  me,  and  I  was  suddenly 
to  come  to  life  and  jump  up  and  try  to  catch  them 
as  they  all  ran  scampering  and  screaming  about. 
We  had  played  in  this  interesting  way  for  some  time, 
and  my  hair,  which  I  keep  in  nice  order  nowadays, 
was  pulled  down  and  flying  every  way,  when  in 
marched  the  doctor.  I  started  up  and  came  to  life 
quickly  enough  when  I  heard  his  step,  looking  red 
and  angry,  no  doubt. 


Stepping  Heavenwa7^d  97 

*'  I  should  think  you  might  have  knocked,  Dr. 
Elliott,'*  I  said,  with  much  displeasure. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon  ;  I  knocked  several  times,"  he 
returned.  "  I  need  hardly  ask  how  my  little  pa- 
tients are." 

"  No,"  I  replied,  still  ruffled,  and  making  desperate 
efforts  to  get  my  hair  into  some  sort  of  order.  "  They 
are  as  well  as  possible." 

^^  I  came  a  little  earlier  than  usual  to-day,"  he  went 
on,  "  because  I  am  called  to  visit  my  uncle.  Dr.  Ca- 
bot, who  is  in  a  very  critical  state  of  health." 

*'Dr.  Cabot !"  I  repeated,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  Compose  yourself,  I  entreat,"  he  said  ;  "  I  hope 
that  I  may  be  able  to  relieve  him.     At  all  events —  " 

"  At  all  events,  if  you  let  him  die  it  will  break  my 
heart,"  I  cried  passionately.  "  Don't  wait  another 
moment ;  go  this  instant." 

"  I  cannot  go  this  instant,"  he  replied.  "  The 
boat  does  not  leave  until  four  o'clock.  And  if  I  may 
be  allowed,  as  a  physician,  to  say  one  word,  that  my 
brief  acquaintance  hardly  justifies,  I  do  wish  to 
warn  you  that  unless  you  acquire  more  self-con- 
trol—  " 

"Oh,  I  know  that  I  have  a  quick  temper,  and  that 
I  spoke  very  rudely  to  you  just  now,"  I  interrupted, 
not  a  little  startled  by  the  seriousness  of  his  man- 
ner. 

"I  did  not  refer  to  your  temper,"  he  said.  "I 
meant  your  whole  passionate  nature.  Your  vehe- 
ment loves  and  hates,  your  ecstasies  and  your  de- 
spondencies ;  your  disposition  to  throw  yourself 
headlong  into  whatever  interests  you." 


98  Stepping  Heavenward 

I  would  rather  have  too  little  self-control/*  1  re- 
torted, resentfully,  *^  than  to  be  as  cold  as  a  stone, 
and  as  hard  as  a  rock,  and  as  silent  as  the  grave,  like 
some  people  I  know." 

His  countenance  fell ;  he  looked  disappointed, 
even  pained. 

"I  shall  probably  see  your  mother/'  he  said,  turn- 
ing to  go  ;  *^  your  aunt  wishes  me  to  call  on  her  ;  have 
you  any  message  ?*' 

''No,''  I  said. 

Another  pained,  disappointed  look  made  me  be- 
gin to  recollect  myself.  I  was  sorry,  oh  !  so  sorry, 
for  my  anger  and  rudeness.  I  ran  after  him,  into 
the  hall,  my  eyes  full  of  tears,  holding  out  both 
hands,  which  he  took  in  both  his. 

"  Don't  go  until  you  have  forgiven  me  for  being  so 
angry  !  "  I  cried.  ^^  Indeed,  Dr.  Elliott,  though  you 
may  not  be  able  to  believe  it,  I  am  trying  to  do  right 
all  the  time  !  " 

"  I  do  believe  it,"  he  said  earnestly. 

**Then  tell  me  that  you  forgive  me  ! " 

*'  If  I  once  begin,  I  shall  be  tempted  to  tell  some- 
thing else,"  he  said,  looking  me  through  and  through 
with  those  great  dusky  eyes.  "And  I  w/// tell  it/' 
he  went  on,  his  grasp  on  my  hands  growing  firmer — 
"  It  is.  easy  to  forgive  when  one  loves."  I  pulled  my 
hands  away,  and  burst  out  crying  again. 

"Oh,  Dr.  Elliott,  this  is  dreadful!''  I  said.  "You 
do  not,  you  cannot  love  me  !  You  are  so  much  old- 
er than  I  am  !  So  grave  and  silent !  You  are  not 
in  earnest  ! " 


stepping  Heavenward  99 

*^  I  am  only  too  much  so/'  he  said,  and  went 
quietly  out. 

I  went  back  to  the  nursery.  The  children  rushed 
upon  me,  and  insisted  that  I  should  "play  die."  I 
let  them  pull  me  about  as  they  pleased.  I  only 
wished  I  could  play  it  in  earnest. 


VIII. 

June  28. 
Mother  writes  me  that  Dr  Cabot  is  out  of 
danger,  Dr.  Elliott  having  thrown  new  light  on  his 
case,  and  performed  some  sort  of  an  operation  that 
relieved  him  at  once.  I  am  going  home.  Nothing 
would  tempt  me  to  encounter  those  black  eyes 
again.  Besides,  the  weather  is  growing  warm,  and 
Aunty  is  getting  ready  to  go  out  of  town  with  the 
children. 

June  29. — Aunty  insisted  on  knowing  why  I  was 
hurrying  home  so  suddenly,  and  at  last  got  it  out  of 
me  inch  by  inch.  On  the  whole  it  was  a  relief  to 
have  some  one  to  speak  to. 

**  Well !  "  she  said,  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair  in 
a  fit  of  musing. 

"  Is  that  all  you  are  going  to  say,  Aunty  ? "  I  ven- 
tured to  ask  at  last. 

*' No,  I  have  one  more  remark  to  add,"  she  said, 
"  and  it  is  this  :  I  don't  know  which  of  you  has  be- 
haved most  ridiculously.  It  would  relieve  me  to 
give  you  each  a  good  shaking." 

*'  I  think  Dr,  Elliott  has  behaved  ridiculously,"  I 
said,  "and  he  has  made  me  most  unhappy." 

*^  Unhappy  !  "  she  repeated.  "  I  don't  wonder  you 
(100) 


Stepping  Heavenward  loi 

are  unhappy.  You  have  pained  and  wounded  one 
of  the  noblest  men  that  walks  the  earth." 

"  It  is  not  my  fault.  I  never  tried  to  make  him 
like  me." 

"Yes,  you  did.  You  were  perfectly  bewitching 
whenever  he  came  here.  No  mortal  man  could  help 
being  fascinated." 

I  knew  this  was  not  true,  and  bitterly  resented 
Aunty's  injustice. 

"  If  I  wanted  to  *  fascinate  '  or  *  bewitch  '  a  man," 
I  cried,  "  I  should  not  choose  one  old  enough  to  be 
my  father,  nor  one  who  was  as  uninteresting,  awk- 
ward and  stiff  as  Dr.  Elliott.  Besides,  how  should  I 
know  he  was  not  married  ?  If  I  thought  anything 
about  it  at  all,  I  certainly  thought  of  him  as  a  mid- 
dle-aged man,  settled  down  with  a  wife,  long  ago." 

"In  the  first  place  he  is  not  old,  or  even  middle- 
aged.  He  is  not  more  than  twenty-seven  or  eight. 
As  to  his  being  uninteresting,  perhaps  he  is  to  you, 
who  don't  know  him.  And  if  he  were  a  married 
man,  what  business  had  he  to  come  here  to  see  you, 
as  he  has  done  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  he  came  to  see  me  ;  he  never 
spoke  to  me.  And  I  always  said  I  would  never 
marry  a  doctor." 

"  We  all  say  scores  of  things  we  live  to  repent," 
she  replied.  "  But  I  must  own  that  the  doctor  acted 
quite  out  of  character  when  he  expected  you  to  take 
a  fancy  to  him  on  such  short  notice,  you  romantic 
little  thing.  Of  course  knowing  him  as  little  as  you 
do,  and  only  seeing  him  in  sick-rooms,  you  could  not 
have  done  otherwise  than  as  you  did." 


I02  Stepping  Heavenzvard 

"Thank  you,  Aunty,"  I  said,  running  and  throw- 
ing my  arms  around  her;  "thank  you  with  all  my 
heart.  And  now  won't  you  take  back  what  you  said 
about  my  trying  to  fascinate  him  ? " 

'^I  suppose  I  must,  you  dear  child,*'  she  said.  "I 
was  not  half  in  earnest.  The  truth  is  I  am  so  fond 
of  you  both  that  the  idea  of  your  misunderstanding 
each  other  annoys  me  extremely.  Why,  you  were 
made  for  each  other.  He  would  tone  you  down  and 
keep  you  straight,  and  you  would  stimulate  him  and 
keep  him  awake." 

**  I  don't  want  to  be  toned  down  or  kept  straight," 
I  remonstrated.  "  I  hate  prigs  who  keep  their  wives 
in  leading-strings.  I  do  not  mean  to  marry  any  one, 
but  if  I  should  be  left  to  such  a  piece  of  folly,  it 
must  be  to  one  who  will  take  me  for  better  for 
worser,  just  as  I  am,  and  not  as  a  wild  plant  for  him 
to  prune  till  he  has  got  it  into  a  shape  to  suit  him. 
And  now,  Aunty,  promise  me  one  thing.  Never 
mention  Dr.  Elliott's  name  to  me  again." 

"I  shall  make  no  such  promise,"  she  replied, 
laughing.  "  I  like  him,  and  I  like  to  talk  about  him, 
and  the  more  you  hate  and  despise  him  the  more  I 
shall  love  and  admire  him.  I  only  wish  my  Lucy 
were  old  enough  to  be  his  wife,  and  that  he  could 
fancy  her  ;  but  he  never  could  !  " 

"  On  the  contrary  I  should  think  that  little  model 
of  propriety  would  just  suit  him,"  I  exclaimed. 

"Don't  make  fun  of  Lucy,"  Aunty  said,  shaking 
her  head.     "  She  is  a  dear,  good  child,  after  all." 

"  After  all "  means  this  (for  what  with  my  own  ob- 
servation, and  what  Aunty  has  told  me,  Lucy's  por- 


Stepping  Heavenward  103 

trait  is  easy  to  paint):  The  child  is  the  daughter  of 
a  man  who  died  from  a  lingering  illness  caused  by 
an  accident.  She  entered  the  family  at  a  most  in- 
auspicious moment,  two  days  after  this  accident. 
From  the  outset  she  comprehended  the  situation, 
and  took  the  ground  that  a  character  of  irreproach- 
able dignity  and  propriety  became  an  infant  coming 
at  such  a  time.  She  never  cried,  never  put  improper 
objects  into  her  mouth,  never  bumped  her  head,  or 
scratched  herself.  Once  put  to  bed  at  night,  you 
knew  knothing  more  of  her  till  such  time  next  day 
as  you  found  it  convenient  to  attend  to  her.  If  you 
forgot  her  existence,  as  was  not  seldom  the  case 
under  the  circumstances,  she  vegetated  on,  unmoved. 
It  is  possible  that  pangs  of  hunger  sometimes  as- 
sailed her,  and  it  is  a  fact  that  she  teethed,  had  the 
measles  and  the  whooping-cough.  But  these  mi- 
nute ripples  on  her  infant  life  only  showed  the  more 
clearly  what  a  waveless,  placid  little  sea  it  was. 
She  got  her  teeth  in  the  order  laid  down  in  *^  Dewees 
on  Children  "  ;  her  measles  came  out  on  the  ap- 
pointed day  like  well-behaved  measles  as  they  were, 
and  retired  decently  and  in  order,  as  measles  should 
Her  whooping-cough  had  a  well-bred,  methodical 
air,  and  left  her  conqueror  of  the  field.  As  the 
child  passed  out  of  her  babyhood,  she  remained  still 
her  mother's  appendage  and  glory  ;  a  monument  of 
pure  white  marble,  displaying  to  the  human  race  one 
instance  at  least  of  perfect  parental  training.  Those 
smooth,  round  hands  were  always  magically  clean  ; 
the  dress  immaculate  and  uncrumpled  ;  the  hair 
dutifully  shining  and  tidy.     She  was  a  model  child. 


I04  Stepping  Heavenward 

as  she  had  been  a  model  baby.  No  slamming  of 
doors,  no  litter  of  carpets,  no  pattering  of  noisy  feet 
on  the  stairs,  no  headless  dolls,  no  soiled  or  torn 
books  indicated  her  presence.  Her  dolls  were  sub- 
ject to  a  methodical  training,  not  unlike  her  own. 
They  rose,  they  were  dressed,  they  took  the  air,  they 
retired  for  the  night,  with  clock-like  regularity.  At 
the  advanced  age  of  eight,  she  ceased  occupying 
herself  with  such  trifles,  and  began  a  course  of  in- 
structive reading.  Her  lessons  were  received  in 
mute  submission,  like  medicine  ;  so  many  doses,  so 
many  times  a  day.  An  agreeable  interlude  of  needle- 
work was  afforded,  and  Dorcas-like,  many  were  the 
garments  that  resulted  for  the  poor.  Give  her  the 
very  eyes  out  of  your  head,  cut  off  your  right  hand 
for  her  if  you  choose,  but  don't  expect  a  gush  of 
enthusiasm  that  would  crumple  you  collar ;  she 
would  as  soon  strangle  herself  as  run  headlong  to 
embrace  you.  If  she  has  any  passions  or  emotions, 
they  are  kept  under  ;  but  who  asks  for  passion  in 
blanc-mange,  or  seeks  emotion  in  a  comfortable  apple- 
pudding? 

When  her  father  had  been  dead  a  year,  her  mother 
married  a  man  with  a  large  family  of  children  and 
a  very  small  purse.  Lucy  had  a  hard  time  of 
it,  especially  as  her  step-father,  a  quick,  impulsive 
man,  took  a  dislike  to  her.  Aunty  had  no  difficulty 
in  persuading  them  to  give  the  child  to  her.  She 
took  her  from  the  purest  motives,  and  it  does  seem 
as  if  she  ought  to  have  more  reward  than  she  gets. 
She  declares,  however,  that  she  has  all  the  reward 


Stepping  Heavenward  105 

she  could  ask  in  the  conviction  that  God  accepts 
this  attempt  to  please  Him. 

Lucy  is  now  nearly  fourteen  ;  very  large  of  her 
age,  with  a  dead  white  skin,  pale  blue  eyes,  and  a 
little  light  hair.  To  hear  her  talk  is  most  edifying. 
Her  babies  are  all  "  babes  "  ;  she  never  begins  any- 
thing but  "commences"  it;  she  never  cries,  she 
"  weeps  "  ;  never  gets  up  in  the  morning,  but  "  rises." 
But  what  am  I  writing  all  this  for  ?  Why,  to  escape 
my  own  thoughts,  which  are  anything  but  agreeable 
companions,  and  to  put  off  answering  the  question 
which  must  be  answered,  "  Have  I  really  made  a 
mistake  in  refusing  Dr.  Elliott?  Could  I  not,  in 
time,  have  come  to  love  a  man  who  has  so  honored 
me  ?" 

July  5. — Here  I  am  again,  safely  at  home,  and 
very  pleasant  it  seems  to  be  with  dear  mother  again. 
I  have  told  her  about  Dr.  E.  She  says  very  little 
about  it  one  way  or  the  other. 

July  10. — Mother  sees  that  I  am  restless  and  out 
of  sorts.  **  What  is  it,  dear?"  she  asked,  this  morn- 
ing. "  Has  Dr.  Elliott  anything  to  do  with  the  un- 
settled state  you  are  in  ?  " 

"Why,  no,  mother,"  1  answered.  "My  going 
away  has  broken  up  all  my  habits  ;  that's  all.  Still 
if  I  knew  Dr.  Elliott  did  not  care  much,  and  was 
beginning  to  forget  it,  I  dare  say  I  should  feel 
better." 

"  If  you  were  perfectly  sure  that  you  never  could 
return  his  affection,"  she  said,  "  you  were  quite  right 
in  telling  him  so  at  once.     But  if  you  had  any  mis- 


io6  Stepping  Heavenward 

givings  on  the  subject,  it  would  have  been  better  to 
wait,  and  to  ask  God  to  direct  you." 

Yes,  it  would.  But  at  the  moment  I  had  no  mis- 
givings. In  my  usual  headlong  style  I  settled  one 
of  the  most  weighty  questions  of  my  life,  without 
reflection,  without  so  much  as  one  silent  appeal  to 
God,  to  tell  me  how  to  act.  And  now  I  have  forever 
repelled,  and  thrown  away  a  heart  that  truly  loved 
me.  He  will  go  his  way  and  I  shall  go  mine.  He 
never  will  know,  what  I  am  only  just  beginning  to 
know  myself,  that  I  yearn  after  his  love  with  unut- 
terable yearning. 

But  I  am  not  going  to  sit  down  in  sentimental 
despondency  to  weep  over  this  irreparable  past. 
No  human  being  could  forgive  such  folly  as  mine  ; 
but  God  can.  In  my  sorrowfulness  and  loneliness 
I  fly  to  Him,  and  find,  what  is  better  than  earthly 
felicity,  the  sweetest  peace.  He  allowed  me  to 
bring  upon  myself,  in  one  hasty  moment,  a  shadow 
out  of  which  I  shall  not  soon  pass,  but  He  pities 
and  He  forgives  me,  and  I  have  had  many  precious 
moments  when  I  could  say  sincerely  and  joyfully, 
'^  Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  Thee,  and  there  is 
none  upon  earth  that  I  desire  besides  Thee." 

With  a  character  still  so  undisciplined  as  mine, 
I  seriously  doubt  whether  I  could  have  made  him 
happy  who  has  honored  me  with  his  unmerited 
affection.  Sometimes  I  think  I  am  as  impetuous 
and  as  quick-tempered  as  ever  ;  I  get  angry  with 
dear  mother,  and  with  James  even,  if  they  oppose 
me  ;  how  unfit,  then,  I  am  to  become  the  mistress 
of  a  household  and  the  wife  of  a  good  man  ! 


Stepping  Heavenward  107 

How  came  he  to  love  me  ?  I  cannot,  cannot 
imagine  ! 

August  31. — The  last  day  of  the  very  happiest 
summer  I  ever  spent.  If  I  had  only  been  willing  to 
believe  the  testimony  of  others  I  might  have  been 
just  as  happy  long  ago  But  I  wanted  to  have  all 
there  was  in  God  and  all  there  was  in  the  world,  at 
once,  and  there  was  a  constant,  painful  struggle 
between  the  two.  I  hope  that  struggle  is  now 
over.  I  deliberately  choose  and  prefer  God.  I  have 
found  a  sweet  peace  in  trying  to  please  Him  such 
as  I  never  conceived  of.  I  would  not  change  it  for 
all  the  best  things  this  world  can  give. 

But  I  have  a  great  deal  to  learn.  I  am  like  a 
little  child  who  cannot  run  to  get  what  he  wants, 
but  approaches  it  step  by  step,  slowly,  timidly — and 
yet  approaches  it.  I  am  amazed  at  the  patience  of 
my  blessed  Master  and  Teacher,  but  how  I  love  His 
school ! 

September. — This,  too,  has  been  a  delightful 
month  in  a  certain  sense.  Amelia's  marriage,  at 
which  I  had  to  be  present,  upset  me  a  little,  but  it 
was  but  a  little  ruffle  on  a  deep  sea  of  peace. 

I  saw  Dr.  Cabot  to-day.  He  is  quite  well  again, 
and  speaks  of  Dr.  Elliott's  skill  with  rapture.  He 
asked  about  my  Sunday  scholars  and  my  poor  folks, 
etc.,  and  I  could  not  help  letting  out  a  little  of  the 
new  joy  that  has  taken  possession  of  me. 

"  This  is  as  it  should  be,"  he  said.  ^'  I  should  be 
sorry  to  see  a  person  of  your  temperament  enthu- 


io8  Stepping  Heavenward 

siastic  in  everything  save  religion.  Do  not  be  dis- 
couraged if  you  still  have  some  ups  and  downs. 
^He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall';  but  you  are 
away  up  on  the  heights,  and  may  have  one,  now 
and  then." 

This  made  me  a  little  uncomfortable.  I  don't 
want  any  falls.     I  want  to  go  on  to  perfection. 

Oct.  I. — Laura  Cabot  came  to  see  me  to-day,  and 
seemed  very  affectionate. 

**  I  hope  we  may  see  more  of  each  other  than  w^e 
have  done,"  she  began.  "  My  father  wishes  it,  and 
so  do  I." 

Katy^  mentally. — "Ah  !  he  sees  how  unworldly, 
how  devoted  I  am,  and  so  wants  Laura  under  my 
influence." 

Katy^  aloud. — "  I  am  sure  that  is  very  kind." 

Laura, — "  Not  at  all.  He  knows  it  will  be  profit- 
able to  me  to  be  with  you.  I  get  a  good  deal  dis- 
couraged at  times,  and  want  a  friend  to  strengthen 
and  help  me.'* 

Katy^  to  herself. — "Yes,  yes,  he  thinks  me  quite 
experienced  and  trustworthy." 

Katy^  aloud. — ''  I  shall  never  dare  to  try  to  help 
you!' 

Laura. — "  Oh,  yes,  you  must.  I  am  so  far  behind 
you  in  Christian  experience." 

But  I  am  ashamed  to  write  down  any  more. 
After  she  had  gone  I  felt  delightfully  puffed  up  for 
a  while.  But  when  I  came  up  to  my  room  this 
evening,  and  knelt  down  to  pray,  everything  looked 
dark   and   chaotic.      God  seemed  far  away,    and  I 


Stepping  Heavenward  109 

took  no  pleasure  in  speaking  to  Him.  I  felt  sure 
that  I  had  done  something  or  felt  something  wrong, 
and  asked  Him  to  show  me  what  it  was.  There 
then  flashed  into  my  mind  the  remembrance  of  the 
vain,  conceited  thoughts  I  had  had  during  Laura's 
visit  and  ever  since. 

How  perfectly  contemptible  !  I  have  had  a  fall 
indeed  ! 

I  think  now  my  first  mistake  was  in  telling  Dr. 
Cabot  my  secret,  sacred  joys,  as  if  some  merit  of 
mine  had  earned  them  for  me.  That  gave  Satan  a 
fine  chance  to  triumph  over  me  !  After  this  I  am 
determined  to  maintain  the  utmost  reserve  in  re- 
spect to  my  religious  experiences.  Nothing  is 
gained  by  running  to  tell  them,  and  much  is  lost. 

I  feel  depressed  and  comfortless. 


IX. 


Oct.  io. 

We  have  very  sad  news  from  Aunty.  She  says 
my  Uncle  is  quite  broken  down  with  some  ob- 
scure disease  that  has  been  creeping  stealthily  along 
for  months.  All  his  physicians  agree  that  he  must 
give  up  his  business  and  try  the  effect  of  a  year's 
rest.  Dr.  Elliott  proposes  his  going  to  Europe, 
which  seems  to  me  about  as  formidable  as  going  to 
the  next  world.  Aunty  makes  the  best  she  can  of  it, 
but  she  says  the  thought  of  being  separated  from 
Uncle  a  whole  year  is  dreadful.  I  pray  for  her  day 
and  night,  that  this  wild  project  may  be  given  up. 
Why,  he  would  be  on  the  ocean  ever  so  many  weeks, 
exposed  to  all  the  discomforts  of  narrow  quarters 
and  poor  food,  and  that  just  as  winter  is  drawing 
nigh  ! 

Oct.  12. — Aunty  writes  that  the  voyage  to  Europe 
has  been  decided  on,  and  that  Dr.  Elliott  is  to  ac- 
company Uncle,  travel  with  him,  amuse  him,  and 
bring  him  home  a  well  man.  I  hope  Dr.  E.'s  power 
to  amuse  may  exist  somewhere,  but  must  own  it  was 
in  a  most  latent  form  when  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
knowing  him.  Poor  Aunty  !  How  much  better  it 
would  be  for  her  to  go  with  Uncle  !  There  are 
(no) 


Stepping  Heavenward  1 1 1 

all  the  children,  to  be  sure.  Well,  I  hope  Uncle  may 
be  the  better  for  this  great  undertaking,  but  I  don't 
like  the  idea  of  it. 

Oct.  15. — Another  letter  from  Aunty,  and  new 
plans  !  The  Dr.  is  to  stay  at  home.  Aunty  is  to  go 
with  Uncle,  and  we — mother  and  myself — are  to  take 
possession  of  the  house  and  children  during  their 
absence  !  In  other  words,  all  this  is  to  be  if  we  say 
amen.  Could  anything  be  more  frightful  ?  To  re- 
fuse would  be  selfish  and  cruel.  If  we  consent  I 
thrust  myself  under  Dr.  Elliott's  very  nose. 

Oct.  16. — Mother  is  surprised  that  I  can  hesitate 
one  instant.  She  seems  to  have  forgotten  all  about 
Dr.  E.  She  says  we  can  easily  find  a  family  to  take 
this  house  for  a  year,  and  that  she  is  delighted  to  do 
anything  for  Aunty  that  can  be  done. 

Nov.  4.— -Here  we  are,  the  whole  thing  settled. 
Uncle  and  Aunty  started  a  week  ago,  and  we  are 
monarchs  of  all  we  survey,  and  this  is  a  great  deal. 
I  am  determined  that  mother  shall  not  be  worn  out 
with  these  children,  although  of  course  I  could  not 
manage  them  without  her  advice  and  help.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  they  won't  all  have  the  measles  in  a  body,  or 
anything  of  that  sort ;  I  am  sure  it  would  be  annoy- 
ing to  Dr.  E.  to  come  here  now. 

Nov.  25. — Of  course  the  baby  must  go  on  teeth- 
ing if  only  to  have  the  doctor  sent  for  to  lance  his 
gums.     I  told  mother  I  was  sure  I  could  not  be  pres- 


112  Stepping  Heavenwai^d 

ent  when  this  was  being  done,  so,  though  she  looked 
surprised,  and  said  people  should  accustom  them- 
selves to  such  things,  she  volunteered  to  hold  baby 
herself. 

Nov.  26. — The  baby  was  afraid  of  mother,  not  be- 
ing used  to  her,  so  she  sent  for  me.  As  I  entered 
the  room  she  gave  him  to  me  with  an  apology  for 
doing  so,  since  I  shrank  from  witnessing  the  opera- 
tion. What  must  Dr.  E.  think  I  am  made  of  if  I 
can't  bear  to  see  a  child's  gums  lanced  ?  However, 
it  is  my  own  fault  that  he  thinks  me  such  a  coward, 
for  I  made  mother  think  me  one.  It  was  very  em- 
barrassing to  hold  baby  and  have  the  doctor's  face 
so  close  to  mine.  I  really  wonder  mother  should 
not  see  how  awkwardly  I  am  situated  here. 

Nov.  27. — We  have  a  good  many  visitors,  friends 
of  Uncle  and  Aunty.  How  uninteresting  most  peo- 
ple are  !  They  all  say  the  same  thing,  namely,  how 
strange  that  Aunty  had  courage  to  undertake  such  a 
voyage,  and  to  leave  her  children,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  and 
what  was  Dr.  Elliott  thinking  of  to  let  them  go,  etc., 
etc.,  etc. 

Dr.  Embury  called  to-day,  with  a  pretty  little  fresh 
creature,  his  new  wife,  who  hangs  on  his  arm  like  a 
work-bag.  He  is  Dr.  Elliott's  intimate  friend,  and 
spoke  of  him  very  warmly,  and  so  did  his  wife,  who 
says  she  has  known  him  always,  as  they  were  born 
and  brought  up  in  the  same  village.  I  wonder  he 
did  not  marry  her  himself,  instead  of  leaving  her  for 
Dr.  Embury  ! 


Stepping  Heave7tward  1 1 3 

She  says  he,  Dr.  Elliott,  I  mean,  was  the  most  de- 
voted son  she  ever  saw,  and  that  he  deserves  his 
present  success  because  he  has  made  such  sacrifices 
for  his  parents.  I  never  met  any  one  whom  I  liked 
so  well  on  so  short  acquaintance — I  mean  Mrs.  Em- 
bury, though  you  might  fancy,  you  poor  deluded 
journal  you,  that  I  meant  somebody  else. 

Nov.  30. — I  have  so  much  to  do  that  I  have  little 
time  for  writing.  The  way  the  children  wear  out 
their  shoes  and  stockings,  the  speed  with  which  their 
hair  grows,  the  way  they  bump  their  heads  and  pinch 
their  fingers,  and  the  insatiable  demand  for  stories, 
is  something  next  to  miraculous.  Not  a  day  passes 
that  somebody  doesn't  need  something  bought ;  that 
somebody  else  doesn't  choke  itself,  and  that  I  don't 
have  to  tell  stories  till  I  feel  my  intellect  reduced  to 
the  size  of  a  pea.  If  ever  I  was  alive  and  wide 
awake,  however,  it  is  just  now,  and  in  spite  of  some 
vague  shadows  of,  I  don't  know  what,  I  am  very 
happy  indeed.  So  is  dear  mother.  She  and  the 
doctor  have  become  bosom  friends.  He  keeps  her 
making  beef-tea,  scraping  lint,  and  boiling  calves 
feet  for  jelly,  till  the  house  smells  like  an  hospital. 

I  suppose  he  thinks  me  a  poor,  selfish,  frivolous 
girl,  whom  nothing  would  tempt  to  raise  a  finger  for 
his  invalids.  But,  of  course,  I  do  not  care  what  he 
thinks. 

Dec.  4. — Dr.  Elliott  came  this  morning  to  ask 
mother  to  go  with  him  to  see  a  child  who  had  met 
with   a   horrible  accident.      She    turned    pale,   and 


TI4  Stepping  Heavenward 

pressed  her  lips  together,  but  went  at  once  to  get 
ready.     Then  my  long-suppressed  wrath  burst  out. 

"  How  can  you  ask  poor  mother  to  go  and  see  such 
sights  ?"  I  cried.  "You  must  think  her  nothing  but 
a  stone,  if  you  suppose  that  after  the  way  in  which 
my  father  died — " 

"  It  was  indeed  most  thoughtless  in  me,"  he  inter- 
rupted ;  ^' but  your  mother  is  such  a  rare  woman,  so 
decided  and  self-controlled,  yet  so  gentle,  so  full  of 
tender  sympathy,  that  I  hardly  know  where  to  look 
for  just  the  help  I  need  to-day.  If  you  could  see 
this  poor  child,  even  you  would  justify  me." 

'' Even  you  r' you.  monster  of  selfishness,  heart  of 
stone,   floating  bubble,  '^  even  you  would  justify  it !" 

How  cruel,  how  unjust,  how  unforgiving  he  is  ! 

I  rushed  out  of  the  room,  and  cried  until  I  was 
tired. 

Dec.  6  — Mother  says  she  feels  really  grateful  to 
Dr.  E.  for  taking  her  to  see  that  child,  and  to  help 
soothe  and  comfort  it  while  he  went  through  with  a 
severe,  painful  operation  which  she  would  not  de- 
scribe, because  she  fancied  I  looked  pale.  I  said  I 
should  think  the  child's  mother  the  most  proper 
person  to  soothe  it  on  such  an  occasion. 

"  The  poor  thing  has  no  mother,"  she  said,  re- 
proachfully. "  What  ^(^i*  got  into  you,  Kate  ?  You 
do  not  seem  at  all  like  yourself." 

'  I  should  think  you  had  enough  to  do  with  this 
great  house  to  keep  in  order,  so  many  mouths  to 
fill,  and  so  many  servants  to  oversee,  without  wear- 
ing yourself  out  with  nursing  all  Dr.  Elliott's  poor 
folks,"  I  said,  gloomily. 


Stepping  Heavenward  1 1 5 

"  The  more  I  have  to  do  the  happier  I  am,"  she 
replied.  "  Dear  Katy,  the  old  wound  isn't  healed 
yet,  and  I  like  to  be  with  those  who  have  wounds 
and  bruises  of  their  own.  And  Dr.  Elliott  seems  to 
have  divined  this  by  instinct.*' 

I  ran  and  kissed  her  dear,  pale  face,  which  grows 
more  beautiful  every  day.  No  wonder  she  misses 
father  so  !  He  loved  and  honored  her  beyond  de- 
scription, and  never  forgot  one  of  those  little  cour- 
tesies which  must  have  a  great  deal  to  do  with  a 
wife's  happiness.  People  said  of  him  that  he  was  a 
gentleman  of  the  old  school,  and  that  race  is  dying 
out. 

I  feel  a  good  deal  out  of  sorts  myself.  Oh,  I  do 
so  wish  to  get  above  myself  and  all  my  childish, 
petty  ways,  and  to  live  in  a  region  where  there  is 
no  temptation  and  no  sin  ! 

Dec.  22. — I  have  been  to  see  Mrs.  Embury  to-day. 
She  did  not  receive  me  as  cordially  as  usual,  and  I 
very  soon  resolved  to  come  away.  She  detained 
me,  however. 

"Would  you  mind  my  speaking  to  you  on  a  cer- 
tain subject  ?"  she  asked,  with  some  embarrassment. 

I  felt  myself  flush  up. 

"I  do  not  want  to  meddle  with  affairs  that  don't 
concern  me,"  she  went  on,  "but  Dr.  Elliott  and  I 
have  been  intimate  friends  all  our  lives.  And  his 
disappointment  has  really  distressed  me." 

One  of  my  moods  came  on,  and  1  couldn't  speak 
a  word. 


1 1 6  Stepping  Heavenward 

"  You  are  not  at  all  the  sort  of  a  girl  I  supposed 
he  would  fancy/'  she  continued.  '^He  always  has 
said  he  was  waiting  to  find  some  one  just  like  his 
mother,  and  she  is  one  of  the  gentlest,  meekest, 
sweetest,  and  fairest  among  women." 

''You  ought  to  rejoice  then  that  he  has  escaped 
the  snare,"  I  said,  in  a  husky  voice,  "  and  is  free  to 
marry  his  ideal,  when  he  finds  her." 

*'  But  that  is  just  what  troubles  me.  He  is  not 
free.  He  does  not  attach  himself  readily,  and  I  am 
afraid  that  it  will  be  a  long,  long  time  before  he  gets 
over  this  unlucky  passion  for  you." 

"Passion!"  I  cried,  contemptuously. 

She  looked  at  me  with  some  surprise,  and  then 
went  on. 

"  Most  girls  would  jump  at  the  chance  of  getting 
such  a  husband." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  particularly  care  to  be 
classed  with  *  most  girls,' "  I  replied,  loftily. 

"But  if  you  only  knew  him  as  well  as  I  do.  He 
is  so  noble,  so  disinterested,  and  is  so  beloved  by 
his  patients.  I  could  tell  you  scores  of  anecdotes 
about  him  that  would  show  just  what  he  is." 

"Thank  you,"  I  said,  "I  think  we  have  discussed 
Dr.  Elliott  quite  enough  already.  I  cannot  say  that 
he  has  elevated  himself  in  my  opinion  by  making 
you  take  up  the  cudgels  in  his  defence." 

"You  do  him  injustice,  when  you  say  that,"  she 
cried.  "  His  sister,  the  only  person  to  whom  he 
confided  the  state  of  things,  begged  me  to  find  out, 
if  I  could,  whether  you  had  any  other  attachment, 
and  if  her  brother's  case  was  quite  hopeless.     But  I 


Stepping  Heavenward  117 

am  sorry  I  undertook  the  task  as  it  has  annoyed  you 
so  much." 

I  came  away  a  good  deal  ruffled.  When  I  got 
home  mother  said  she  was  glad  I  had  been  out  at 
last  for  a  little  recreation,  and  that  she  wished  I  did 
not  confine  myself  so  to  the  children.  I  said  that  I 
did  not  confine  myself  more  than  Aunty  did. 

"But  that  is  different,"  m.other  objected.  "She 
is  their  own  mother,  and  love  helps  her  to  bear  her 
burden." 

"  So  it  does  me,"  I  returned.  "  I  love  the  children 
exactly  as  if  they  were  my  own." 

"  That,"  she  said,  "  is  impossible." 

"  I  certainly  do,"  I  persisted. 

Mother  would  not  dispute  with  me,  thougli  I 
wished  she  would. 

"  A  mother,"  she  went  on,  "  receives  her  children 
one  at  a  time,  and  gradually  adjusts  herself  to 
gradually  increasing  burdens.  But  you  take  a 
whole  houseful  upon  you  at  once,  and  I  am  sure  it 
is  too  much  for  you.  You  do  not  look  or  act  like 
yourself." 

"  It  isn't  the  children,"  I  said. 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"  Why,  it's  nothing,''  I  said,  pettishly. 

"  I  must  say,  dear,"  said  mother,  not  noticing  my 
manner,  "  that  your  wonderful  devotion  to  the  chil- 
dren, aside  from  its  effect  on  your  health  and  tem- 
per,  has  given  me  great  delight." 

"  I  don't  see  w^hy,"  I  said. 

"Very  few  girls  of  your  age  would  give  up  their 
whole  time  as  you  do  to  such  work." 


1 1 8  Stepping  Heavenward 

"  That  is  because  very  few  girls  are  as  fond  of 
children  as  I  am.  There  is  no  virtue  in  doing 
exactly  what  one  likes  best  to  do." 

"There,  go  away,  you  contrary  child,"  said 
mother,  laughing.  "  If  you  won't  be  praised,  you 
won't." 

So  I  came  up  here  and  moped  a  little.  I  don't 
see  what  ails  me. 

But  there  is  an  under-current  of  peace  that  is  not 
entirely  disturbed  by  any  outside  event.  In  spite  of 
my  follies  and  my  shortcomings,  I  do  believe  that 
God  loves  and  pities  me,  and  will  yet  perfect  that 
which  concerneth  me.  It  is  a  great  mystery.  But 
so  is  everything. 

Dr.  Elliott  to  Mrs.  Crofton  : 

....  And  now,  my  dear  friend,  having  issued 
my  usual  bulletin  of  health,  you  may  feel  quite  at . 
ease  about  your  dear  children,  and  I  come  to  a 
point  in  your  letter  which  I  would  gladly  pass  over 
in  silence.  But  this  would  be  but  a  poor  return  for 
the  interest  you  express  in  my  affairs. 

Both  ladies  are  devoted  to  your  little  flock,  and 
Miss  Mortimer  seems  not  to  have  a  thought  but  for 
them.  The  high  opinion  I  formed  of  her  at  the 
outset  is  more  than  justified  by  all  I  see  of  her 
daily,  household  life.  I  know  what  her  faults  are, 
for  she  seems  to  take  delight  in  revealing  them. 
But  I  also  know  her  rare  virtues,  and  what  a  wealth 
of  affection  she  has  to  bestow  on  the  man  who  is  so 
happy  as  to  win  her  heart.     But  I  shall  never  be 


Stepping  Heavenward  119 

that  man.  Her  growing  aversion  to  me  makes  me 
dread  a  summons  to  your  house,  and  I  have  hardly 
manliness  enough  to  conceal  the  pain  this  gives  me. 
I  entreat  you,  therefore,  never  again  to  press  this 
subject  upon  me.  After  all,  I  would  not,  if  I  could, 
dispense  with  the  ministry  of  disappointment  and 
unrest. 

Mrs.  Crofton,  in  reply  : 

....  So  she  hates  you,  does  she  ?  I  am  charmed 
to  hear  it.  Indifference  would  be  an  alarming 
symptom,  but  good,  cordial  hatred,  or  what  looks 
like  it,  is  a  most  hopeful  sign.  The  next  chance 
you  get  to  see  her  alone,  assure  her  that  you  never 
shall  repeat  your  first  offence.  If  nothing  comes  of 
it  I  am  not  a  woman,  and  never  was  one  ;  nor  is 
she. 

March  25,  1836. — The  New  Year  and  my  birth- 
day have  come  and  gone,  and  this  is  the  first 
moment  I  could  find  for  writing  down  all  that  has 
happened. 

The  day  after  my  last  date  I  was  full  of  serious, 
earnest  thoughts,  of  new  desires  to  live,  without 
one  reserve,  for  God.  I  was  smarting  under  the 
remembrance  of  my  folly  at  Mrs.  Embury's,  and 
with  a  sense  of  vague  disappointment  and  discom- 
fort, and  had  to  fly  closer  than  ever  to  Him.  In  the 
evening  I  thought  I  would  go  to  the  usual  weekly 
service.  It  is  true  I  don't  like  prayer-meetings,  and 
that  is  a  bad  sign,  I  am  afraid.     But  I  am  deter- 


I20  Stepping  Heavenwa7^d 

mined  to  go  where  good  people  go,  and  see  if  I 
can't  learn  to  like  what  they  like. 

Mother  went  with  me,  of  course. 

What  was  my  surprise  to  find  that  Dr.  E.  was  to 
preside  !  I  had  no  idea  that  he  was  that  sort  of  a 
man. 

The  hymns  they  sang  were  beautiful,  and  did  me 
good.  So  was  his  prayer.  If  all  prayers  were  like 
that,  I  am  sure  I  should  like  evening  meetings  as 
much  as  I  now  dislike  them.  He  so  evidently 
spoke  to  God  in  it,  and  as  if  he  were  used  to  such 
speaking. 

He  then  made  a  little  address  on  the  ministry  of 
disappointments,  as  he  called  it.  He  spoke  so 
cheerfully  and  hopefully  that  I  began  to  see  almost 
for  the  first  time  God's  reason  for  the  petty  trials 
and  crosses  that  help  to  make  up  every  day  of  one's 
life.  He  said  there  were  few  who  were  not  con- 
stantly disappointed  with  themselves,  with  their 
slow  progress,  their  childishness  and  weakness  ; 
disappointed  with  their  friends  who,  strangely 
enough,  were  never  quite  perfect  enough,  and  dis- 
appointed with  the  world,  which  was  always  prom- 
ising so  much  and  giving  so  little.  Then  he  urged 
to  a  wise  and  patient  consent  to  this  discipline, 
which,  if  rightly  used,  would  help  to  temper  and 
strengthen  the  soul  against  the  day  of  sorrow  and 
bereavement.  But  I  am  not  doing  him  justice  in 
this  meagre  report ;  there  was  something  almost 
heavenly  in  his  expression  which  words  cannot 
describe. 

Coming  out  I  heard  some  one  ask,  *'  Who  was  that 


Stepping  Heavenward  121 

young  clergyman  ? "  and  the  answer,  "  Oh,  that  is 
only  a  doctor  !  " 

Well  !  the  next  week  I  went  again,  with  mother. 
We  had  hardly  taken  our  seats  when  Dr.  E.  marched 
in  with  the  sweetest  looking  little  creature  I  ever 
saw.  He  was  so  taken  up  with  her  that  he  did  not 
observe  either  mother  or  myself.  As  she  sat  by  my 
side  I  could  not  see  her  full  face,  but  her  profile  was 
nearly  perfect.  Her  eyes  were  of  that  lovely  blue 
one  sees  in  violets  and  the  skies,  with  long,  soft  eye- 
lashes, and  her  complexion  was  as  pure  as  a  baby's. 
Yet  she  was  not  one  of  your  doll  beauties  ;  her  face 
expressed  both  feeling  and  character.  They  sang 
together  from  the  same  book,  though  I  offered  her 
a  share  of  mine.  Of  course,  when  people  do  that  it 
can  mean  but  one  thing. 

So  it  seems  he  has  forgotten  me,  and  consoled 
himself  with  this  pretty  little  thing.  No  doubt  she 
is  like  his  mother,  that  "  gentlest,  meekest,  sweetest 
and  fairest  among  women  !  " 

Now  if  anybody  should  be  sick,  and  he  should 
come  here,  I  thought,  what  would  become  of  me? 
I  certainly  could  not  help  showing  that  a  love  that 
can  so  soon  take  up  with  a  new  object  could  not 
have  been  a  sentiment  of  much  depth. 

It  is  not  pleasant  to  lose  even  a  portion  of  one's 
respect  and  esteem  for  another. 

The  next  day  mother  went  to  visit  an  old  friend  of 
hers,  who  has  a  beautiful  place  outside  of  the  city. 
The  baby's  nurse  had  ironing  to  do,  so  I  promised 
to  sit  in  the  nursery  till  it  was  finished.  Lucy  came, 
with  her  books,  to  sit  with  me.     She  always  follows 


122  Stepping  Heavenward  / 

me  like  my  shadow.  After  a  while  Mrs.  Embury 
called.  I  hesitated  a  little  about  trusting  the  child 
to  Lucy's  care,  for  though  her  prim  ways  have  given 
her  the  reputation  of  being  wise  beyond  her  years,  I 
observe  that  she  is  apt  to  get  into  trouble  which  a 
quick-witted  child  would  either  avoid  or  jump  out 
of  in  a  twinkling.  However,  children  are  often  left 
to  much  younger  girls,  so,  with  many  cautions,  I 
wxnt  down,  resolving  to  stay  only  a  few  moments. 

But  I  wanted  so  much  to  know  all  about  that 
pretty  little  friend  of  Dr.  E.'s  that  I  let  Mrs.  Embury 
stay  on  and  on,  though  not  a  ray  of  light  did  I  get 
for  my  pains.  At  last  I  heard  Lucy's  step  coming 
downstairs. 

"  Cousin  Katy,"  she  said,  entering  the  room  with 
her  usual  propriety,  *^  I  was  seated  by  the  window, 
engaged  with  my  studies,  and  the  children  were 
playing  about,  as  usual,  when  suddenly  I  heard  a 
shriek,  and  one  of  them  ran  past  me,  all  in  a  blaze 
and — " 

I  believe  I  pushed  her  out  of  "my  way  as  I  rushed 
upstairs,  for  I  took  it  for  granted  I  should  meet  the 
little  figure  all  in  a  blaze,  coming  to  meet  me.  But 
I  found  it  wrapped  in  a  blanket,  the  flames  extin- 
guished. Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Embury  had  roused  the 
whole  house,  and  everybody  came  running  upstairs. 

"  Get  the  doctor,  some  of  you,"  I  cried,  clasping 
the  poor  little  writhing  form  in  my  arms. 

And  then  I  looked  to  see  which  of  them  it  was, 
and  found  it  w^as  Aunty's  pet  lamb,  everybody's  pet 
lamb,  our  little  loving,  gentle  Emma. 

Dr.  Elliott  must  have  come  on  wings,  for  I  had  not 


Stepping  Heavenward  123 

time  to  be  impatient  for  his  arrival.  He  was  as  ten- 
der as  a  woman  with  Emma  ;  we  cut  off  and  tore  off 
her  clothes  wherever  the  fire  had  touched  her,  and 
he  dressed  the  burns  with  his  own  hands.  He  did 
not  speak  a  word  to  me,  or  I  to  him.  This  time  he 
did  not  find  it  necessary  to  advise  me  to  control  my- 
self.    I  was  as  cold  and  hard  as  a  stone. 

But  when  poor  little  Emma's  piercing  shrieks  be- 
gan to  subside,  and  she  came  a  little  under  the  influ- 
ence of  some  soothing  drops  he  had  given  her  at  the 
outset,  I  began  to  feel  that  sensation  in  the  back  of 
my  neck  that  leads  to  conquest  over  the  most  stub- 
born and  the  most  heroic.  I  had  just  time  to  get 
Emma  into  the  doctor's  arms,  and  then  down  I  went. 
I  got  over  it  in  a  minute,  and  was  up  again  before 
any  one  had  time  to  come  to  the  rescue.  But  Dr.  E. 
gave  Emma  to  Mrs.  Embury,  who  had  taken  off  her 
things  and  been  crying  all  the  time,  and  said  in  a  low- 
voice, 

"I  beg  you  will  now  leave  the  room,  and  lie 
down.  And  do  not  feel  obliged  to  see  me  when  I 
visit  the  child.  That  annoyance,  at  least,  you  should 
spare  yourself." 

"  No  consideration  shall  make  me  neglect  "little 
Emma,"  I  replied,  defiantly. 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Embury  had  rocked  her  to 
sleep,  and  she  lay,  pale  and  with  an  air  of  complete 
exhaustion,  in  her  arms. 

"  You  must  lie  down  now.  Miss  Mortimer,"  Dr. 
Elliott  said,  as  he  rose  to  go.  "  I  will  return  in  a 
few  hours  to  see  how  you  both  do." 

He  stood  looking  at  Emma,  but  did  not  go.    Then 


124  Stepping  Heavenward  ./ 

Mrs.  Embury  asked  the  question  I  had  not  dared  to 
ask. 

**  Is  the  poor  child  in  danger  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say  ;  I  trust  not.  Miss  Mortimer's  pres- 
ence of  mind  in  extinguishing  the  flames  at  once, 
has,  I  hope,  saved  its  life/' 

*'  It  was  not  my  presence  of  mind,  it  was  Lucy's  !" 
I  cried,  eagerly.  Oh,  how  I  envied  her  for  being  the 
heroine,  and  for  the  surprised,  delighted  smile  with 
which  he  went  and  took  her  hand,  saying,  "  I  con- 
gratulate you,  Lucy  !  How  your  mother  will  re- 
joice at  this  !" 

I  tried  to  think  of  nothing  but  poor  little  Emma, 
and  of  the  reward  Aunty  had  had  for  her  kindness 
to  Lucy.  But  I  thought  of  myself,  and  how  likely 
it  was  that  under  the  same  circumstances  I  should 
have  been  beside  myself,  and  done  nothing.  This, 
and  many  other  emotions,  made  me  burst  out  cry- 
ing. 

"  Yes,  cry,  cry,  with  all  your  heart,"  said  Mrs.  Em- 
bury, laying  Emma  gently  down,  and  coming  to 
get  me  into  her  arms.  "It  will  do  you  good,  poor 
child  !" 

She  cried  with  me,  till  at  last  I  could  lie  down  and 
try  to  sleep. 

Well,  the  days  and  the  weeks  were  very  long  after 
that. 

Dear  mother  had  a  hard  time,  what  with  her 
anxiety  about  Emma,  and  my  crossness  and  unrea- 
sonableness. 

Dr.  Elliott  came  and  went,  came  and  went.  At 
last  he  said  all  danger  wa.s  over,  and  that  pur  pa- 


Stepping  Heavenward  125 

tient  little  darling  would  get  well.  But  his  visits 
did  not  diminish  ;  he  came  twice  and  three  times 
every  day.  Sometimes  I  hoped  he  would  tell  us 
about  his  new  flame,  and  sometimes  I  felt  that  I 
could  not  hear  her  mentioned.  One  day  mother  was 
so  unwell  that  I  had  to  help  him  dress  Emma's 
burns,  and  I  could  not  help  saying  : 

**  Even  a  mother's  gentlest  touch,  full  of  love  as  it 
is,  is  almost  rough  compared  with  that  of  one 
trained  to  such  careful  handling  as  you  are." 

He  looked  gratified,  but  said  : 

"  I  am  glad  you  begin  to  find  that  even  stones  feel, 
sometimes." 

Another  time  something  was  said  about  the  fickle- 
ness of  women.  Mrs.  Embury  began  it.  I  fired  up, 
of  course. 

He  seemed  astonished  at  my  attack. 

"/said  nothing,"  he  declared. 

"  No,  but  you  looked  a  good  many  things.  Now 
the  fact  is,  women  are  not  fickle.  When  they  lose 
what  they  value  most,  they  find  it  impossible  to  re- 
place it.  But  men  console  themselves  with  the  first 
good  thing  that  comes  along." 

I  dare  say  I  spoke  bitterly,  for  I  was  thinking  how 

soon  Ch ,  I  mean  somebody,  replaced  me  in  his 

shallow  heart,  and  how,  with  equal  speed,  Dr.  Elli- 
ott had  helped  himself  to  a  new  love. 

"  I  do  not  like  these  sweeping  assertions,"  said  Dr. 
Elliott,  looking  a  good  deal  annoyed. 

"I  have  to  say  what  I  think,"  I  persisted. 

"  It  is  well  to  think  rightly,  then,"  he  said, 
gravely. 


126  Stepping  Heavenward  / 

"  By  the  bye,  have  you  heard  from  Helen  ?"  Mrs, 
Embury  most  irreverently  asked. 

"Yes,  I  heard  yesterday." 

"I  suppose  you  will  be  writing  her,  then?  Will 
you  enclose  a  little  note  from  me  ?  Or  rather  let 
me  have  the  least  corner  of  your  sheet  ?" 

I  was  shocked  at  her  want  of  delicacy.  Of  course 
this  Helen  must  be  the  new  love,  and  how  could  a 
woman  with  two  grains  of  sense  imagine  he  would 
want  to  spare  her  a  part  of  his  sheet ! 

I  felt  tired  and  irritated.  As  soon  as  Dr.  Elliott 
had  gone,  I  began  to  give  her  a  good  setting  down. 

"  I  could  hardly  believe  my  ears,"  I  said,  "  when 
I  heard  you  ask  leave  to  write  on  Dr.  Elliott's 
sheet." 

"  No  wonder,"  she  said,  laughing.  "  I  suppose 
you  never  knew  what  it  was  to  have  to  count  every 
shilling,  and  to  deny  yourself  the  pleasure  of  writ- 
ing to  a  friend  because  of  what  it  would  cost.  Fm 
sure  I  never  did  till  I  was  married." 

"  But  to  ask  him  to  let  you  help  write  his  love- 
letters,"  I  objected. 

"Ah  !  is  that  the  way  the  wind  blows  ?"  she  cried, 
nodding  her  pretty  little  head.  "Well,  then,  let  me 
relieve  your  mind,  my  dear,  by  informing  you  that 
this  ^love-letter'  is  to  his  sister,  my  dearest  friend, 
and  the  sweetest  little  thing  you  ever  saw." 

"Oh!"  I  said,  and  immediately  felt  quite  rested, 
and  quite  like  myself. 

Like  myself  !     And  who  is  she,  pray  ! 

Two  souls  dwell  in  my  poor  little  body,  and  which 


Stepping  Heavenwa7'd  127 

of  them  is  me,  and  which  of  them  isn't,  it  would  be 
;      hard  to  tell.     This  is  the  way  they  behave  : 

SCENE    FIRST. 

Katy^  to  the  other  creature,  whom  I  will  call 
Kate. — Your  mother  looks  tired,  and  you  have  been 
very  cross.  Run  and  put  your  arms  around  her,  and 
tell  her  how  you  love  her. 

Kate.—0\  I  can't ;  it  would  look  queer.  I  don't 
like  palaver.  Besides,  who  would  not  be  cross  who 
felt  as  I  do  ? 

SCENE    SECOND. 

Katy. — Little  Emma  has  nothing  to  do,  and  ought 
to  be  amused.     Tell  her  a  story,  do. 

Kate. — I  am  tired,  and  need  to  be  amused  my- 
self. 

Katy, — But  the  dear  little  thing  is  so  patient  and 
has  suffered  so  much. 

Kate. — Well,  I  have  suffered,  too.  If  she  had  not 
climbed  up  on  the  fender  she  would  not  have  got 
burned. 

SCENE    THIRD. 

Kate.— You.  are  very  irritable  to-day.  You  had 
better  go  upstairs  to  your  room  and  pray  for  pa- 
tience. 

Katy. — One  can't  be  always  praying.  I  don't  feel 
like  it. 

SCENE    FOURTH. 

Katy.— 'Yon  treat  Dr.  Elliott  shamefully.  I  should 
think  he  would  really  avoid  you  as  you  avoid  him. 


128  Stepping  Heavenward 

Kate. — Don't  let  me  hear  his  name.  I  don't  avoid 
him. 

Katy. — You  do  not  deserve  his  good  opinion. 
Kate. — Yes,  I  do. 

SCENE    FIFTH. 

Just  awake  in  the  morning. 

Katy. — Oh,  dear  !  how  hateful  I  am  !  I  am  cross 
and  selfish,  and  domineering,  and  vain.  I  think  of 
myself  the  whole  time  ;  I  behave  like  a  heroine 
when  Dr.  Elliott  is  present,  and  like  a  naughty, 
spoiled  child  when  he  is  not.  Poor  mother  !  how 
can  she  endure  me  ?  As  to  my  piety,  it  is  worse 
than  none. 

Kate^  a  few  hours  later. — Well,  nobody  can  deny 
that  I  have  a  real  gift  in  managing  children  !  And 
I  am  very  lovable,  or  mother  wouldn't  be  so  fond 
of  me.  I  am  always  pleasant  unless  I  am  sick,  or 
worried,  and  my  temper  is  not  half  so  hasty  as  it 
used  to  be.  I  never  think  of  myself,  but  am  all  the 
time  doing  something  for  others.  As  to  Dr.  E.,  I 
am  thankful  to  say  that  I  have  never  stooped  to  at- 
tract him  by  putting  on  airs  and  graces.  He  sees 
me  just  as  I  am.  And  I  am  very  devout.  I  love  to 
read  good  books  and  to  be  with  good  people.  I  pray 
a  great  deal.  The  bare  thought  of  doing  wrong 
makes  me  shudder.  Mother  is  proud  of  me,  and  I 
don't  wonder.  V^ry  few  girls  would  have  behaved 
as  I  did  when  Emma  was  burned.  Perhaps  I  am 
not  as  sweet  as  some  people.  I  am  glad  of  it.  I 
hate  sweet  people.     I  have  great  strength  of  char- 


Stepping  Heave7iward  129 

acter,  which  is  much  better,  and  am  certainly  very- 
high-toned. 

But,  my  poor  journal,  you  can't  stand  any  more 
such  stuff,  can  you  ?  Bi  tell  me  one  thing,  am  I 
Katy  or  am  I  Kate  ? 


X. 


April  20. 

Yesterday  I  felt  better  than  I  have  done  since  the 
accident.  I  ran  about  the  house  quite  cheerily,  for 
me.  I  wanted  to  see  mother  for  something,  and  flew 
singing  into  the  parlor,  where  I  had  left  her  shortly 
before.  But  she  was  not  there,  and  Dr.  Elliott  was. 
I  started  back,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  but 
he  detained  me. 

"  Come  in,  I  beg  of  you,"  he  said,  his  voice  grow- 
ing hoarser  and  hoarser.  "  Let  us  put  a  stop  to 
this." 

"  To  what  ?"  I  asked,  going  nearer  and  nearer,  and 
looking  up  into  his  face,  which  was  quite  pale. 

"  To  your  evident  terror  of  being  alone  with  me, 
of  hearing  me  speak.  Let  me  assure  you,  once  for 
all,  that  nothing  would  tempt  me  to  annoy  you  by 
urging  myself  upon  you,  as  you  seem  to  fear  I  may 
be  tempted  to  do.  I  cannot  force  you  to  love  me, 
nor  would  I  if  I  could.  If  you  ever  want  a  friend 
you  will  find  one  in  me.  But  do  not  think  of  me  as 
your  lover,  or  treat  me  as  if  I  were  always  lying  in 
wait  for  a  chance  to  remind  you  of  it.  That  I  shall 
never  do,  never." 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course  not ! ''  I  broke  forth,  my  face 
all  in  a  glow,  and  tears  of  mortification  raining  down 
(130) 


Stepping  Heavenward  131 

my  cheeks.  "  I  knew  you  did  not  care  for  me  !  I 
knew  you  had  got  over  it  !" 

I  don't  know  which  of  us  began  it,  I  don't  think 
he  did,  and  I  am  sure  I  did  not,  but  the  next  mo- 
ment^ was  folded  all  up  in  his  great  long  arms,  and 
a  new  life  had  begun  ! 

Mother  opened  the  door  not  long  after,  and  seeing 
what  was  going  on,  trotted  away  on  her  dear  old 
feet  as  fast  as  she  could. 

April  21. — I  am  too  happy  to  write  journals.     To 
think  how  we  love  each  other. 
Mother  behaves  beautifully. 

April  25. — One  does  not  feel  like  saying  much 
about  it,  when  one  is  as  happy  as  I  am.  I  walk  the 
streets  as  one  treading  on  air.  I  fly  about  the  house 
as  on  wings.     I  kiss  everybody  I  see. 

Now  that  I  look  at  Ernest  (for  he  makes  me  call 
him  so)  with  unprejudiced  eyes,  I  wonder  I  ever 
thought  him  clumsy.  And  how  ridiculous  it  was 
in  me  to  confound  his  dignity  and  manliness  with 
age  ! 

It  is  very  odd,  however,  that  such  a  cautious,  well- 
balanced  man  should  have  fallen  in  love  with  me 
that  day  at  Sunday-school.  And  still  stranger  that 
with  my  headlong,  impulsive  nature,  I  deliberately 
walked  into  love  with  him  ! 

I  believe  we  shall  never  get  through  with  what 
we  have  to  say  to  each  other.  I  am  afraid  we  are 
rather  selfish  to  leave  mother  to  herself  every 
evening. 


132  Stepping  Heavenward 

Sept.  5. — This  has  been  a  delightful  summer.  To 
be  sure,  we  had  to  take  the  children  to  the  country 
for  a  couple  of  months,  but  Ernest's  letters  are 
almost  better  than  Ernest  himself.  I  have  written 
enough  to  him  to  fill  a  dozen  books.  We  are  going 
back  to  the  city  now.  In  his  last  letter  Ernest  says 
he  has  been  home,  and  that  his  mother  is  delighted 
to  hear  of  his  engagement.  He  says,  too,  that  he 
went  to  see  an  old  lady,  one  of  the  friends  of  his 
boyhood,  to  tell  the  news  to  her. 

^*  When  I  told  her,"  he  goes  on,  '^  that  I  had  found 
the  most  beautiful,  the  noblest,  the  most  loving  of 
human  beings,  she  only  said,  '  Of  course,  of  course! ' 

"  Now  you  know,  dear,  that  it  is  not  at  all  of 
course,  but  the  very  strangest,  most  wonderful  event 
in  the  history  of  the  world." 

And  then  he  described  a  scene  he  had  just  wit- 
nessed at  the  deathbed  of  a  young  girl  of  my  own 
age,  who  left  this  world  and  every  possible  earthly 
joy,  with  a  delight  in  the  going  to  be  with  Christ, 
that  made  him  really  eloquent.  Oh,  how  glad  I  am 
that  God  has  cast  in  my  lot  with  a  man  whose  whole 
business  is  to  minister  to  others  !  I  am  sure  this 
will,  of  itself,  keep  him  unworldly  and  unselfish. 
How  delicious  it  is  to  love  such  a  character,  and 
how  happy  I  shall  be  to  go  with  him  to  sick-rooms 
and  to  dying-beds  !  He  has  already  taught  me  that 
lessons  learned  in  such  scenes  far  outweigh  in  value 
what  books  and  sermons,  even,  can  teach. 

And  now,  my  dear  old  journal,  let  me  tell  you  a 
secret  that  has  to  do  with  life,  and  not  with  death. 

I  am  going  to  be  married  ! 


Stepping  Heavenivard  133 

To  think  that  I  am  always  to  be  with  Ernest ! 
To  sit  at  the  table  with  him  every  day,  to  pray 
with  him,  to  go  to  church  with  him,  to  have  him 
all  mine  !  I  am  sure  that  there  is  not  another  man 
on  earth  whom   I  could    love  as  I  love  him.     The 

thought  of  marrying  Ch ,  I  mean  of  having  that 

silly,  school-girl  engagement  end  in  marriage,  was 
always  repugnant  to  me.  But  I  give  myself  to  Er- 
nest joyfully  and  with  all  my  heart. 

How  good  God  has  been  to  me  !  I  do  hope  and 
pray  that  this  new,  this  absorbing  love,  has  not  de- 
tached my  soul  from  Him,  will  not  detach  it.  If  I 
knew  it  would,  could  I,  should  I  have  courage  to 
cut  it  off  and  cast  it  from  me  ? 

Jan.  16,  1837. — Yesterday  was  my  birthday,  and 
to-day  is  my  wedding-day.  We  meant  to  celebrate 
the  one  with  the  other,  but  Sunday  would  come  this 
year  on  the  fifteenth. 

I  am  dressed,  and  have  turned  everybody  out  of 
this  room,  where  I  have  suffered  so  much  mortifica- 
tion, and  experienced  so  much  joy,  that  before  I 
give  myself  to  Ernest,  and  before  I  leave  home  for- 
ever, I  may  once  more  give  myself  away  to  God.  I 
have  been  too  much  absorbed  in  my  earthly  love, 
and  am  shocked  to  find  how  it  fills  my  thoughts. 
But  I  will  belong  to  God.  I  will  begin  my  married 
life  in  His  fear,  depending  on  Him  to  make  me  an 
unselfish,  devoted  wife. 

Jan.  25. — We  had  a  delightful  trip  after  the  wed- 
ding was  over.     Ernest  proposed  to  take  me  to  his 


134  Stepping  Heavenward 

own  home  that  I  might  see  his  mother  and  sister. 
He  never  has  said  that  he  wanted  them  to  see  me. 
But  his  mother  is  not  well.  I  am  heartily  glad  of 
it.  I  mean  I  was  glad  to  escape  going  there  to  be 
examined  and  criticised.  Every  one  of  them  would 
pick  at  me,  I  am  sure,  and  I  don't  like  to  be 
picked  at. 

We  have  a  home  of  our  own,  and  I  am  trying  to 
take  kindly  to  housekeeping.  Ernest  is  away  a 
great  deal  more  than  I  expected  he  would  be,  I  am 
fearfully  lonely.  Aunty  comes  to  see  me  as  often 
as  she  can,  and  I  go  there  almost  every  day,  but  that 
doesn't  amount  to  much.  As  soon  as  I  can  venture 
to  do  it,  I  shall  ask  Ernest  to  let  me  invite  mother 
to  come  and  live  with  us.  It  is  not  right  for  her  to 
be  left  all  alone  so.  I  hoped  he  would  do  that  him- 
self. But  men  are  not  like  women.  We  think  of 
everything. 

Feb.  15. — Our  honeymoon  ends  to-day.  There 
hasn't  been  quite  as  much  honey  in  it  as  I  expected. 
I  supposed  that  Ernest  would  be  at  home  every 
evening,  at  least,  and  that  he  would  read  aloud,  and 
have  me  play  and  sing,  and  that  we  should  have  de- 
lightful times  together.  But  now  he  has  got  me 
he  seems  satisfied,  and  goes  about  his  business  as  if 
he  had  been  married  a  hundred  years.  In  the 
morning  he  goes  off  to  see  his  list  of  patients  ;  he  is 
going  in  and  out  all  day  ;  after  dinner  we  sit  down 
to  have  a  nice  talk  together,  the  door-bell  invaria- 
bly rings,  and  he  is  called  away.  Then  in  the  even- 
ing he  goes   and  sits  in  his    office  and  studies  ;  I 


Stepping  Heavenward  135 

don't  mean  every  minute,  but  he  certainly  spends 
hours  there.  To-day  he  brought  me  such  a  precious 
letter  from  dear  mother  !  I  could  not  help  crying 
when  I  read  it,  it  was  so  kind  and  so  loving.  Ernest 
looked  amazed  ;  he  threw  down  his  paper,  came  and 
took  me  in  his  arms  and  asked,  **  What  is  the  mat- 
ter, darling?"  Then  it  all  came  out.  I  said  I  was 
lonely,  and  hadn't  been  used  to  spending  my  even- 
ings all  by  myself. 

"You  must  get  some  of  your  friends  to  come  and 
see  you,  poor  child,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  want  friends,"  I  sobbed  out.  "  I  want 
you." 

"Yes,  darling  ;  why  didn't  you  tell  me  so  sooner? 
Of  course  I  will  stay  with  you  if  you  wish  it." 

"  If  that  is  your  only  reason,  I  am  sure  I  don't 
want  you;"  I  pouted. 

He  looked  puzzled. 

"I  really  don't  know  what  to  do,"  he  said,  with  a 
most  comical  look  of  perplexity.  But  he  went  to 
his  office,  and  brought  up  a  pile  of  fusty  old  books. 

"  Now,  dear,"  he  said,  "we  understand  each  other, 
I  think.  I  can  read  here  just  as  well  as  down- 
stairs. Get  your  book  and  we  shall  be  as  cosy  as 
possible." 

My  heart  felt  sore  and  dissatisfied.  Am  I  un- 
reasonable and  childish  ?  What  is  married  life  ? 
An  occasional  meeting,  a  kiss  here  and  a  caress 
there  ?  or  is  it  the  sacred  union  of  the  twain  who 
walk  together  side  by  side,  knowing  each  other's 
joys  and  sorrows,  and  going  Heavenward  hand  in 
hand  ? 


136  Stepping  Heavenward 

Feb.  17. — Mrs.  Embury  has  been  here  to-day.  I 
longed  to  compare  notes  with  her,  and  find  out 
whether  it  really  is  my  fault  that  I  am  not  quite 
happy.  But  I  could  not  bear  to  open  my  heart  to 
her  on  so  sacred  a  subject.  We  had  some  general 
conversation,  however,  which  did  me  good  for  the 
time,  at  least. 

She  said  she  thought  one  of  the  first  lessons  a 
wife  should  learn  is  self-forgetfulness.  I  wondered 
if  she  had  seen  anything  in  me  to  call  forth  this 
remark.  We  meet  pretty  often  ;  partly  because  our 
husbands  are  such  good  friends,  partly  because  she 
is  as  fond  of  music  as  I  am,  and  we  like  to  sing  and 
play  together,  and  I  never  see  her  that  she  does  not 
do  or  say  something  elevating  ;  something  that 
strengthens  my  own  best  purposes  and  desires.  But 
she  knows  nothing  of  my  conflict  and  dismay,  and 
never  will.  Her  gentle  nature  responds  at  once  to 
holy  influences.  I  feel  truly  grateful  to  her  for  lov- 
ing me,  for  she  really  does  love  me,  and  yet  she 
must  see  my  faults. 

I  should  like  to  know  if  there  is  any  reason  on 
earth  why  a  woman  should  learn  self-forgetfulness 
that  does  not  apply  to  a  man  ? 

Feb.  18. — Uncle  says  he  has  no  doubt  he  owes  his 
life  to  Ernest,  who,  in  the  face  of  opposition  to  other 
physicians,  insisted  on  his  giving  up  his  business 
and  going  off  to  Europe  at  just  the  right  moment. 
F<>r  his  partner,  whose  symptoms  were  very  like  his 
own,  has  been  stricken  down  with  paralysis,  and  will 
not  recover. 


Stepping  Heavenward  137 

It  is  very  pleasant  to  hear  Ernest  praised,  and  it 
is  a  pleasure  I  have  very  often,  for  his  friends  come 
to  see  me,  and  speak  of  him  with  rapture.  A  lady 
told  me  that  through  the  long  illness  of  a  sweet 
young  daughter  of  hers,  he  prayed  with  her  every 
day,  ministering  so  skillfully  to  her  soul,  that  all 
fear  of  death  was  taken  away,  and  she  just  longed 
to  go,  and  did  go  at  last,  with  perfect  delight.  I 
think  he  spoke  of  her  to  me  once,  but  he  did  not  tell 
me  that  her  preparations  for  death  was  his  work.  I 
could  not  conceive  of  him  as  doing  that. 

Feb.  24. — Ernest  has  been  gone  a  week.  His 
mother  is  worse  and  he  had  to  go.  I  wanted  to  go 
too,  but  he  said  it  was  not  worth  while,  as  he  should 
have  to  return  directly.  Dr.  Embury  takes  charge 
of  his  patients  during  his  absence,  and  Mrs.  E.  and 
Aunty  and  the  children  come  to  see  me  very  often. 
I  like  Mrs.  Embury  more  and  more.  She  is  not  so 
audacious  as  I  am,  but  I  believe  she  agrees  with  me 
more  than  she  will  own. 

Feb.  25. — Ernest  writes  that  his  mother  is  danger- 
ously ill,  and  seems  in  great  distress.  I  am  mean 
enough  to  want  all  his  love  myself,  while  I  should 
hate  him  if  he  gave  none  to  her.  Poor  Ernest !  If 
she  should  die  he  would  be  sadly  afflicted  ! 

Feb.  27. — She  died  the  very  day  he  wrote.  How 
I  long  to  fly  to  him  and  to  comfort  him  !  I  can  think 
of  nothing  else.  I  pray  day  and  night  that  God 
would  make  me  a  better  wife. 


138  Stepping  Heavenward 

A  letter  came  from  mother  at  the  same  time  with 
Ernest's.  She  evidently  misses  me  more  than  she 
will  own.  Just  as  soon  as  Ernest  returns  home  I 
will  ask  him  to  let  her  come  and  live  with  us.  I  am 
sure  he  will  ;  he  loves  her  already,  and  now  that  his 
mother  has  gone  he  will  find  her  a  real  comfort.  I 
am  sure  she  will  only  make  our  home  the  happier. 

Feb.  28. — Such  a  dreadful  thing  is  going  to  hap- 
pen !  I  have  cried  and  called  myself  names  by  turns 
all  day.  Ernest  writes  that  it  has  been  decided  to 
give  up  the  old  homestead,  and  scatter  the  family 
about  among  the  married  sons  and  daughters.  Our 
share  is  to  be  his  father  and  his  sister  Martha,  and 
he  desires  me  to  have  two  rooms  got  ready  for  them 
at  once. 

So  all  the  glory  and  the  beauty  is  snatched  out  of 
my  married  life  at  one  swoop  !  And  it  is  done  by 
the  hand  I  love  best,  and  that  I  would  not  have  be- 
lieved could  be  so  unkind. 

I  am  rent  in  pieces  by  conflicting  emotions  and 
passions.  One  moment  I  am  all  tenderness  and 
sympathy  for  poor  Ernest,  and  ready  to  sacrifice 
everything  for  his  pleasure.  The  next  I  am  bitterly 
angry  with  him  for  disposing  of  all  my  happiness  in 
this  arbitrary  way.  If  he  had  let  me  make  common 
cause  with  him  and  share  his  interests  with  him,  I 
know  I  am  not  so  abominably  selfish  as  to  feel  as  I 
do  now.  But  he  forces  two  perfect  strangers  upon 
me,  and  forever  shuts  our  doors  against  my  darling 
mother.  For,  of  course,  she  cannot  live  with  us  if 
they  do. 


Stepping  Heavenward  139 

And  who  knows  what  sort  of  people  they  are  ? 
It  is  not  everybody  I  can  get  along  with,  nor  is  it 
everybody  can  get  along  with  me.  Now,  if  Helen 
were  coming  instead  of  Martha,  that  would  be  some 
relief.  I  could  love  her,  I  am  sure,  and  she  would 
put  up  with  my  ways.  But  your  Marthas  I  am 
afraid  of.  Oh,  dear,  dear,  what  a  nest  of  scorpions 
this  affair  has  stirred  up  within  me  !  Who  would 
believe  I  could  be  thinking  of  my  own  misery  while 
Ernest's  mother,  whom  he  loved  so  dearl}^,  is  hardly 
in  her  grave  !  But  I  have  no  heart,  I  am  stony  and 
cold.     It  is  well  to  have  found  out  just  what  I  am  ! 

Since  I  wrote  that  I  have  been  trying  to  tell  God 
all  about  it.  But  I  could  not  speak  for  crying. 
And  I  have  been  getting  the  rooms  ready.  How 
many  little  things  I  had  planned  to  put  in  the  best 
one,  which  I  intended  for  mother  !  I  have  made 
myself  arrange  them  just  the  same  for  Ernest's 
father.  The  stuffed  chair  I  have  had  in  my  room, 
and  enjoyed  so  much,  has  been  rolled  in,  and  the 
Bible  with  large  print  placed  on  the  little  table  near 
which  I  had  pictured  mother  with  her  sweet,  pale 
face,  as  sitting  year  after  year.  The  only  thing  I 
have  taken  away  is  the  copy  of  father's  portrait. 
He  won't  want  that  I 

When  I  had  finished  this  business  I  went  and 
shook  my  fist  at  the  creature  I  saw  in  the  glass. 

"  You're  beaten  !  "  I  cried.  "  Yoii^  didn't  want  to 
give  up  the  chair,  nor  your  writing-table,  nor  the 
Bible  in  which  you  expect  to  record  the  names  of 
your  ten  children  !  But  you've  had  to  do  it,  so 
there  !  " 


140  Stepping  Heavenward 

March  3. — They  all  got  here  at  7  o'clock  last 
night,  just  in  time  for  tea.  I  was  so  glad  to  get 
hold  of  Ernest  once  more  that  I  was  gracious  to  my 
guests,  too.  The  very  first  thing,  however,  Ernest 
annoyed  me  by  calling  me  Katherine,  though  he 
knows  I  hate  that  name,  and  want  to  be  called 
Katy,  as  if  I  were  a  lovable  person,  as  I  certainly 
am  (sometimes).  Of  course  his  father  and  Martha 
called  me  Katherine,  too. 

His  father  is  even  taller,  darker,  blacker  eyed, 
blacker  haired  than  he. 

Martha  is  a  spinster. 

I  had  got  up  a  nice  little  supper  for  them,  think- 
ing they  would  need  something  substantial  after 
their  journey.  And  perhaps  there  was  some  vanity 
in  the  display  of  dainties  that  needed  the  mortifica- 
tion I  felt  at  seeing  my  guests  both  push  away  their 
plates  in  apparent  disgust.  Ernest,  too,  looked 
annoyed,  and  expressed  some  regret  that  they  could 
find  nothing  to  tempt  their  appetites. 

Martha  said  something  about  not  expecting  much 
from  young  housekeepers,  which  I  inwardly  re- 
sented, for  the  light,  delicious  bread  had  been  sent 
by  Aunty,  together  with  other  luxuries  from  her 
own  table,  and  I  knew  they  were  not  the  handiwork 
of  a  young  housekeeper,  but  of  old  Chloe,  who  had 
lived  in  her  own  and  her  mother's  family  twenty 
years. 

Ernest  went  out  as  soon  as  this  unlucky  repast 
was  over  to  hear  Dr.  Embury's  report  of  his 
patients,  and  we  passed  a  dreary  evening,  as  my 
mind  was  preoccupied  with  longing  for  his  return. 


Stepping  Heavenward  141 

The  more  I  tried  to  think  of  something  to  say,  the 
more  I  couldn't. 

At  last  Martha  asked  at  what  time  we  break- 
fasted. 

*^At  half-past  seven,  precisely,"  I  answered. 
*^  Ernest  is  very  punctual  about  breakfast.  The 
other  meals  are  more  irregular." 

"  That  is  very  late,"  she  returned.  "  Father  rises 
early  and  needs  his  breakfast  at  once." 

I  said  I  would  see  that  he  had  it  as  early  as  he 
liked,  while  I  foresaw  that  this  would  cost  me  a 
battle  with  the  divinity  who  reigned  in  the  kitchen. 

"You  need  not  trouble  yourself.  I  will  speak  to 
my  brother  about  it,"  she  said. 

"Ernest  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  I  said, 
quickly. 

She  looked  at  me  in  a  speechless  way,  and  then 
there  was  a  long  silence,  during  which  she  shook 
her  head  a  number  of  times.  At  last  she  inquired  : 
"  Did  you  make  the  bread  we  had  on  the  table 
to-night  ? " 

"No,  I  do  not  know  how  to  make  bread,"  I  said, 
smiling  at  her  look  of  horror. 

"  Not  know  how  to  make  bread  ?  "  she  cried. 

The  very  spirit  of  mischief  got  into  me,  and  made 
me  ask  : 

"Why,  can  you  ?" 

Now  I  know  there  is  but  one  other  question  I 
could  have  asked  her,  less  insulting  than  this,  and 
that  is  : 

"Do  you  know  the  Ten  Commandments?" 


142  Stepping  Heavenward 

A  spinster  fresh  from  a  farm  not  know  how  to 
make  bread,  to  be  sure  ! 

But  in  a  moment  I-  was  ashamed  and  sorry  that  I 
had  yielded  to  myself  so  far  as  to  forget  the  cour- 
tesy due  to  her  as  my  guest,  and  one  just  come 
from  a  scene  of  sorrow,  so  I  rushed  across  the 
room,  seized  her  hand,  and  said,  eagerly  : 

"'  Do  forgive  me !  It  slipped  out  before  I 
thought ! " 

She  looked  at  me  in  blank  amazement,  uncon- 
scious that  there  was  anything  to  forgive. 

"  How  you  startled  me  ! ''  she  said.  "  I  thought 
you  had  suddenly  gone  crazy." 

I  went  back  to  my  seat  crestfallen  enough.  All 
this  time  Ernest's  father  had  sat  grim  and  grave  in 
his  corner,  without  a  word.     But  now  he  spoke. 

"  At  what  hour  does  my  son  have  family  worship  ? 
I  should  like  to  retire.     I  feel  very  weary." 

Now  family  worship  at  night  consists  in  our  kneel- 
ing down  together  hand  in  hand,  the  last  thing 
before  going  to  bed,  and  in  our  own  room.  The 
awful  thought  of  changing  this  sweet,  informal 
habit  into  a  formal  one  made  me  reply  quickly  : 

'^  Oh,  Ernest  ?*s  very  irregular  about  it.  He  is 
often  out  in  the  evening,  and  sometimes  we  are  up 
quite  late.  I  hope  you  never  will  feel  obliged  to 
wait  for  him." 

*^I  trust  I  shall  do  my  duty,  whatever  it  costs," 
was  the  answer. 

Oh,  how  I  wished  they  would  go  to  bed  ! 

It  was  now  ten  o'clock,  and  I  felt  tired  and  rest- 
less.    When  Ernest  is  out  late  I  usually  lie  on  the 


Stepping  Heavenward  143 

sofa  and  wait  for  him,  and  so  am  bright  and  fresh 
when  he  comes  in.  But  now  I  had  to  sit  up,  and 
there  was  no  knowing  for  how  long.  I  poked  at  the 
fire  and  knocked  down  the  shovel  and  tongs,  now  I 
leaned  back  in  my  chair,  and  now  I  leaned  forward  ; 
and  then  I  listened  for  his  step.     At  last  he  came. 

'^What,  are  you  not  all  gone  to  bed?'*  he  asked. 
As  if  I  could  go  to  bed  when  I  had  scarcely  seen  him 
a  moment  since  his  return  ! 

I  explained  why  we  waited,  and  then  we  had  pray- 
ers and  escorted  our  guests  to  their  rooms.  When 
we  got  back  to  the  parlor  I  was  thankful  to  rest  my 
tired  soul  in  Ernest's  arms,  and  to  hear  what  little 
he  had  to  tell  about  his  mother's  last  hours. 

*'  You  must  love  me  more  than  ever,  now,"  he  said, 
"  for  I  have  lost  my  best  friend." 

*' Yes,"  I  said,  ^'  I  will."  As  if  that  were  possible  ! 
All  the  time  we  were  talking  I  heard  the  greatest 
racket  overhead,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  notice  it. 
I  found,  this  morning,  that  Martha,  or  her  father,  or 
both  together,  had  changed  the  positions  of  every 
article  of  furniture  in  the  room,  making  it  look  like 
a  fright. 


XI. 


March  io. 

Things  are  even  worse  than  I  expected.  Ernest 
evidently  looked  at  me  with  his  father's  eyes  (and 
this  father  has  got  the  jaundice,  or  something),  and 
certainly  is  cooler  towards  me  than  he  was  before  he 
went  home.  Martha  still  declines  eating  more  than 
enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  together,  and  sits  at 
the  table  with  the  air  of  a  martyr.  Her  father  lives 
on  crackers  and  stewed  prunes,  and  when  he  has 
eaten  them,  fixes  his  melancholy  eyes  on  me,  watch- 
ing every  mouthful  with  an  air  of  plaintive  regret 
that  I  will  consume  so  much  unwholesome  food. 

Then  Ernest  positively  spends  less  time  with  me 
than  ever,  and  sits  in  his  office  reading  and  writing 
nearly  every  evening. 

Yesterday  I  came  home  from  an  exhilarating 
walk,  and  a  charming  call  at  Aunty's,  and  at  the 
dinner-table  gave  a  lively  account  of  some  of  the 
children's  exploits.  Nobody  laughed,  and  nobody 
made  any  response,  and  after  dinner  Ernest  took  me 
aside,  and  said,  kindly  enough,  but  still  said  it, 

"  My  little  wife  must  be  careful  how  she  runs  on 
in  my  father's  presence.  He  has  a  great  deal  of  every- 
thing that  might  be  thought  levity." 

Then  all  the  vials  of  my  wrath  exploded  and  went 
off. 

(144) 


Stepping  Heavenward  145 

"  Yes,  I  see  how  it  is,"  I  cried,  passionately.  "  You 
and  your  father  and  your  sister  have  got  a  box  about 
a  foot  square  that  you  want  to  squeeze  me  into.  I 
have  seen  it  ever  since  they  came.  And  I  can  tell 
you  it  will  take  more  than  three  of  you  to  do  it 
There  was  no  harm  in  what  I  said — none,  whatever. 
If  you  only  married  me  for  the  sake  of  screwing  me 
down  and  freezing  me  up,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  so 
before  it  was  too  late  ? '' 

Ernest  stood  looking  at  me  like  one  staring  at  a 
problem  he  had  got  to  solve,  and  didn't  know  where 
to  begin. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  said.  "  I  thought  you 
would  be  glad  to  have  me  give  you  this  little  hint. 
Of  course  I  want  you  to  appear  your  very  best  be- 
fore my  father  and  sister." 

''  My  very  best  is  my  real  self,"  I  cried.  "  To  talk 
like  a  woman  of  forty  is  unnatural  to  a  girl  of  my 
age.  If  your  father  doesn't  like  me  I  wish  he  would 
go  away,  and  not  come  here  putting  notions  into 
your  head,  and  making  you  as  cold  and  hard  as  a 
stone.  Mother  liked  to  have  me  ^  run  on,'  as  you 
call  it,  and  I  wish  1  had  stayed  with  her  all  my  life." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  he  asked,  very  gravely,  *^  that  you 
really  wish  that  ?" 

"  No,"  I  said,  **  I  don't  mean  it,"  for  his  husky, 
troubled  voice  brought  me  to  my  senses.  **A11  I 
mean  is,  that  I  love  you  so  dearly,  and  you  keep 
my  heart  feeling  so  hungry  and  restless  ;  and  then 
you  went  and  brought  your  father  and  sister  here 
and  never  asked  me  if  I  should  like  it  ;  and  you 
crowded  mother  out,  and  she  lives  all  alone,  and  it 


146  Stepping  Heave7izvard 

isn't  right  !  I  always  said  that  whoever  married 
me  had  got  to  marry  mother,  and  I  never  dreamed 
that  you  would  disappoint  me  so  !" 

"  Will  you  stop  crying,  and  listen  to  me  ?"  he  said. 

But  I  could  not  stop.  The  floods  of  the  great 
deep  were  broken  up  at  last,  and  I  had  to  cry.  If  I 
could  have  told  my  troubles  to  some  one  I  could 
thus  have  found  vent  for  them,  but  there  was  no  one 
to  whom  I  had  a  right  to  speak  of  my  husband. 

Ernest  walked  up  and  down  in  silence.  Oh,  if  I 
could  have  cried  on  his  breast,  and  felt  that  he  loved 
and  pitied  me  ! 

At  last,  as  I  grew  quieter,  he  came  and  sat  by  me. 

"This  has  come  upon  me  like  a  thunderclap,"  he 
said.  *'  I  did  not  know  I  kept  your  heart  hungry. 
I  did  not  know  you  wished  your  mother  to  live  with 
us.  And  I  took  it  for  granted  that  my  wife,  with 
her  high-toned,  heroic  character,  would  sustain  me 
in  every  duty,  and  w^elcome  my  father  and  sister  to 
our  home.  I  do  not  know  what  I  can  do  now.  Shall 
I  send  them  away  ?" 

"  No,  no  !"  I  cried.  "  Only  be  good  to  me,  Ernest, 
only  love  me,  only  look  at  me  with  your  own  eyes, 
and  not  with  other  people's.  You  knew  I  had  faults 
when  you  married  me ;  I  never  tried  to  conceal 
them." 

*'And  did  you  fancy  I  had  none  myself?"  he 
asked 

"  N — o,"  I  replied.  *^  I  saw  no  faults  in  you. 
Everybody  said  you  were  such  a  noble,  good  man, 
and  you  spoke  so  beautifully  one  night  at  an  even- 
ing meeting." 


Stepping  Heavenward  i^y 

"  Speaking  beautifully  is  little  to  the  purpose  un- 
less one  lives  beautifully,"  he  said,  sadly.  **And 
now  is  it  possible  that  you  and  I,  a  Christian  man 
and  a  Christian  woman,  are  going  on  and  on  with 
such  scenes  as  this  ?  Are  you  to  wear  your  very  life 
out  because  I  have  not  your  frantic  way  of  loving, 
and  am  I  to  be  made  weary  of  mine  because  I  can- 
not satisfy  you  ?" 

^^  But,  Ernest,"  I  said,  "  you  used  to  satisfy  me. 
Oh,  how  happy  I  was  in  those  first  days  when  we 
were  always  together,  and  you  seemed  so  fond  of 
me  !"  I  was  down  on  the  floor  by  this  time,  and 
looking  up  into  his  pale,  anxious  face. 

"Dear  child,"  he  said,  "  I  do  love  you,  and  that 
more  than  you  know.  But  you  would  not  have  me 
leave  my  work  and  spend  my  whole  time  telling  you 
so  ?" 

"You  know  I  am  not  so  silly,"  I  cried.  "It  is  not 
fair,  it  is  not  right  to  talk  as  if  I  were.  I  ask  for 
nothing  unreasonable.  I  only  want  those  little  daily 
assurances  of  your  affection  which  I  should  suppose 
would  be  spontaneous  if  you  felt  at  all  towards  me 
as  I  do  to  you." 

"  The  fact  is,"  he  returned,  "  I  am  absorbed  in  my 
work.  It  brings  many  grave  cares  and  anxieties.  I 
spend  most  of  my  time  amid  scenes  of  suffering  and 
at  dying  beds.  This  makes  me  seem  abstracted  and 
cold,  but  it  does  not  make  you  less  dear.  On  the 
contrary,  the  sense  it  gives  me  of  the  brevity  and 
sorrowfulness  of  life  makes  you  doubly  precious, 
since  it  constantly  reminds   me  that   sick  beds  and 


148  Stepping  Heavenward 

dying  beds  must  sooner  or  later  come  to  our  home 
as  to  those  of  others/* 

I  clung  to  him  as  he  uttered  these  terrible  words 
in  an  agony  of  terror. 

^*Oh,  Ernest,  promise  me,  promise  me  that  you 
will  not  die  first,"  I  pleaded. 

*'  Foolish  little  thing  !"  he  said,  and  was  as  silly, 
for  a  while,  as  the  silliest  heart  could  ask.  Then  he 
became  serious  again. 

"  Katy,"  he  said,  *^if  you  can  once  make  up  your 
mind  to  the  fact  that  I  am  an  undemonstrative  man, 
not  all  fire  and  fury  and  ecstasy  as  you  are,  yet  lov- 
ing you  with  all  my  heart,  however  it  may  seem,  I 
think  you  will  spare  yourself  much  needless  pain — 
and  spare  me,  also." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  be  demonstrative,"  I  per- 
sisted. 

*^  Then  you  must  teach  me.  And  about  my  father 
and  sister,  perhaps,  we  may  find  some  way  of  re- 
lieving you  by  and  by.  Meanwhile,  try  to  bear  with 
the  trouble  they  make,  for  my  sake." 

"  But  I  don't  mind  the  trouble  !  Oh,  Ernest,  how 
you  do  misunderstand  me  !  What  I  mind  is  their 
coming  between  you  and  me  and  making  you  love 
me  less." 

By  this  time  there  was  a  call  for  Ernest — it  is  a 
wonder  there  had  not  been  forty — and  he  went. 

I  feel  as  heart-sore  as  ever.  What  has  been  gained 
by  this  tempest  ?  Nothing  at  all  !  Poor  Ernest  ! 
How  can  I  worry  him  so  when  he  is  already  full  of 
care  ? 


Stepping  Heavenward  149 

March  20. — I  have  had  such  a  truly  beautiful  let- 
ter to-da}^  from  dear  mother  !  She  gives  up  the 
hope  of  coming  to  spend  her  last  years  with  us  with 
a  sweet  patience  that  makes  me  cry  whenever  I 
think  of  it.  What  is  the  secret  of  this  instant  and 
cheerful  consent  to  whatever  God  wills  !  Oh,  that  I 
had  it,  too  !  She  begs  me  to  be  considerate  and 
kind  to  Ernest's  father  and  sister,  and  constantly  to 
remind  myself  that  my  Heavenly  Father  has  chosen 
to  give  me  this  care  and  trial  on  the  very  threshold 
of  my  married  life.  I  am  afraid  I  have  quite  lost 
sight  of  that  in  my  indignation  with  Ernest  for 
bringing  them  here. 

April  3. — Martha  is  closeted  with  Ernest  in  his 
office  day  and  night.  They  never  give  me  the  least 
hint  of  what  is  going  on  in  these  secret  meetings. 
Then  this  morning  Sarah,  my  good,  faithful  cook, 
bounced  into  my  room  to  give  warning.  She  said 
she  could  not  live  where  there  were  two  mistresses 
giving  contrary  directions. 

"But,  really,  there  is  but  one  mistress,"  I  urged. 
Then  it  came  out  that  Martha  went  down  every 
morning  to  look  after  the  soap-fat,  and  to  scrimp  in 
the  house-keeping,  and  see  that  there  was  no  food 
wasted.  I  remembered  then  that  she  had  inquired 
whether  I  attended  to  these  details,  evidently  rank- 
ing such  duties  with  saying  one's  prayers  and  read- 
ing one's  Bible. 

I  flew  to  Ernest  the  moment  he  was  at  leisure  and 
poured  my  grievances  into  his  ear. 

"  Well,  dear,"  he  said,  "  suppose  you  give  up  the 


150  Stepping  Heavenwa7^d 

house-keeping  to  Martha  !  She  will  be  far  happier 
and  you  will  be  freed  from  much  annoying^  petty 
care." 

I  bit  my  tongue  lest  it  should  say  something,  and 
went  back  to  Sarah. 

'^  Suppose  Miss  Elliott  takes  charge  of  the  house- 
keeping, and  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  will  you 
stay  ?" 

"  Indeed,  and  I  won't  then.  I  can't  bear  her,  and 
I  won't  put  up  with  her  nasty,  scrimping,  pinching 
ways  !" 

"Very  well.  Then  you  will  have  to  go,"  I  said, 
with  great  dignity,  though  just  ready  to  cry.  Er- 
nest, on  being  applied  to  for  wages,  undertook  to 
argue  the  question  himself. 

"My  sister  will  take  the  whole  charge,"  he  began. 

*'  And  may  and  welcome  for  all  me  !"  quoth  Sarah. 
"  1  don't  like  her  and  never  shall." 

"  Your  liking  or  disliking  her  is  of  no  consequence 
whatever,"  said  Ernest.  "  You  may  dislike  her  as 
much  as  you  please.     But  you  must  not  leave  us." 

"  Indeed,  and  I'm  not  going  to  stay  and  be  put 
upon  by  her,"  persisted  Sarah.  So  she  has  gone. 
We  had  to  get  dinner  ourselves  ;  that  is  to  say, 
Martha  did,  for  she  said  I  got  in  her  way,  and  put 
her  out  with  my  awkwardness.  I  have  been  run- 
ning hither  and  thither  to  find  some  angel  who  will 
consent  to  live  in  this  ill-assorted  household.  Oh, 
how  different  everything  is  from  what  I  had  planned  ! 
I  wanted  a  cheerful  home,  where  I  should  be  the 
centre  of  every  joy  ;  a  home  like  Aunty's,  without  a 
cloud.     But  Ernest's  father  sits,  the  personification 


**  We  had  to  get  dinner  for  ourselves  —  that  is  to  say,  Martha  did.' 


Stepping  Heavenward  151 

of  silent  gloom,  like  a  nightmare  on  my  spirits  ; 
Martha  holds  me  in  disfavor  and  contempt ;  Ernest 
is  absorbed  in  his  profession,  and  I  hardly  see  him. 
If  he  wants  advice  he  asks  it  of  Martha,  while  I  sit, 
humbled,  degraded  and  ashamed,  wondering  why 
he  ever  married  me  at  all.  And  then  come  inter- 
ludes of  wild  joy  when  he  appears  just  as  he  did  in 
the  happy  days  of  our  bridal  trip,  and  I  forget  every 
grievance  and  hang  on  his  words  and  looks  like  one 
intoxicated  with  bliss. 


Oct.  2. — There  has  been  another  explosion.  I 
held  in  as  long  as  I  could,  and  then  flew  into  ten 
thousand  pieces.  Ernest  had  got  into  the  habit  of 
helping  his  father  and  sister  at  the  table,  and  ap- 
parently forgetting  me.  It  seems  a  little  thing,  but 
it  chafed  and  fretted  my  already  irritated  soul  till  at 
last  I  was  almost  beside  myself. 

Yesterday  they  all  three  sat  eating  their  break- 
fast and  I,  with  empty  plate,  sat  boiling  over  and 
looking  on,  when  Ernest  brought  things  to  a  crisis 
by  saying  to  Martha, 

*'  If  you  can  find  time  to-day  I  wish  you  would 
go  out  with  me  for  half  an  hour  or  so.  I  want  to 
consult  you  about —  " 

"Oh  !"  I  said,  rising,  with  my  face  all  in  a  flame, 
"do  not  trouble  yourself  to  go  out  in  order  to 
escape  me.  I  can  leave  the  room  and  you  can  have 
your  secrets  to  yourselves  as  you  do  your  break- 
fast !" 

I  don't  know  which  struck  me  most,  Ernest's  ap- 


152  Steppi7ig  Heavenward 

palled,  grieved  look  or  the  glance  exchanged  be- 
tween Martha  and  her  father. 

He  did  not  hinder  my  leaving  the  room,  and  I 
went  upstairs,  as  pitiable  an  object  as  could  be  seen. 
I  heard  him  go  to  his  office,  then  take  his  hat  and 
set  forth  on  his  rounds.  What  wretched  hours  I 
passed,  thus  left  alone  !  One  moment  I  reproached 
m3^self,  the  next  I  was  indignant  at  the  long 
series  of  offences  that  had  led  to  this  disgraceful 
scene. 

At  last  Ernest  came. 

He  looked  concerned,  and  a  little  pale. 

^' Oh,  Ernest!"  I  cried,  running  to  him,  "I  am  so 
sorry  I  spoke  to  you  as  I  did  !  Bat,  indeed,  I  can- 
not stand  the  way  things  are  going  on ;  I  am  wear- 
ing all  out.  Everybody  speaks  of  my  growing  thin. 
Feel  of  my  hands.     They  burn  like  fire." 

"  I  knew  you  would  be  sorry,  dear,"  he  said.  "  Yes, 
your  hands  are  hot,  poor  child." 

There  was  a  long,  dreadful  silence.  And  yet  I 
was  speaking,  and  perhaps  he  was.  I  was  begging 
and  beseeching  God  not  to  let  us  drift  apart,  not  to 
let  us  lose  one  jot  or  tittle  of  our  love  to  each  other, 
to  enable  me  to  understand  my  dear,  dear  husband 
and  make  him  understand  me. 

Then  Ernest  began. 

"  What  was  it  vexed  you,  dear  ?  What  is  it  you 
can't  stand  ?  Tell  me.  I  am  your  husband,  I  love 
you,  I  want  to  make  you  happy." 

"Why,  you  are  having  so  many  secrets  that  you 
keep  from  me  ;  and  you  treat  me  as  if  I  were  only 
a  child,  consulting  Martha  about  everything.     And 


Stepping  Heavenward  153 

of  late  you  seem  to  have  forgotten  that  I  am  at  the 
table  and  never  help  me  to  anything  !  " 

''  Secrets  !  "  he  re-echoed.  "  What  possible  secrets 
can  I  have  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  I  said,  sinking  wearily  back  on 
the  sofa.  "  Indeed,  Ernest,  I  don't  want  to  be  sel- 
fish or  exacting,  but  I  am  very  unhappy." 

*^  Yes,  I  see  it,  poor  child.  And  if  I  have  neg- 
lected you  at  the  table  I  do  not  wonder  you  are  out 
pf  patience.  I  know  how  it  has  happened.  While 
you  were  pouring  out  the  coffee  I  busied  myself  in 
caring  for  my  father  and  Martha,  and  so  forgot 
you.  I  do  not  give  this  as  an  excuse,  but  as  a 
reason.  I  have  really  no  excuse,  and  am  ashamed 
of  m.yself." 

"  Don't  say  that,  darling,"  I  cried,  "  it  is  I  who 
ought  to  be  ashamed  for  making  such  an  ado  about 
a  trifle." 

"  It  is  not  a  trifle,"  he  said  ;  "  and  now  to  the 
other  points,  I  dare  say  I  have  been  careless  about 
consulting  Martha.  But  she  has  always  been  a  sort 
of  oracle  in  our  family,  and  we  all  look  up  to  her, 
and  she  is  so  much  older  than  you.  Then  as  to  the 
secrets.  Martha  comes  to  my  office  to  help  me  look 
over  my  books.  I  have  been  careless  about  my 
accounts,  and  she  has  kindly  undertaken  to  attend 
to  them  for  me." 

"  Could  not  I  have  done  that  ?  " 

"  No  ;  why  should  your  little  head  be  troubled 
about  money  matters  ?  But  to  go  on.  I  see  that  it 
was  thoughtless  in  me  not  to  tell  you  what  we  were 
about.     But  I  am  greatly  perplexed  and   harassed 


154  Stepping  Heavenward 

in  many  ways.  Perhaps  you  would  feel  better  to 
know  all  about  it.  I  have  only  kept  it  from  you  to 
spare  you  all  the  anxiety  I  could." 

"  Oh,  Ernest,"  I  said,  "  ought  not  a  wife  to  share 
in  all  her  husband's  cares?" 

"  No,"  he  returned  ;  "  but  I  will  tell  you  all  that 
is  annoying  me  now.  My  father  was  in  business  in 
our  native  town,  and  went  on  prosperously  for 
many  years.  Then  the  tide  turned — he  met  with 
loss  after  loss,  till  nothing  remained  but  the  old 
homestead,  and  on  that  there  was  a  mortgage.  We 
concealed  the  state  of  things  from  my  mother  ;  her 
health  was  delicate,  and  we  never  let  her  know  a 
trouble  we  could  spare  her.  Now  she  has  gone, 
and  we  have  found  it  necessary  to  sell  our  old 
home  and  to  divide  and  scatter  the  family.  My 
father's  mental  distress  when  he  found  others  suffer- 
ing from  his  own  losses  threw  him  into  the  state  in 
which  you  see  him  now.  I  have  therefore  assumed 
his  debts,  and  with  God's  help  hope  in  time  to  pay 
them  to  the  uttermost  farthing.  It  will  be  neces- 
sary for  us  to  live  economically  until  this  is  done. 
There  are  two  pressing  cases  that  I  am  trying  to 
meet  at  once.  This  has  given  me  a  preoccupied 
air,  I  have  no  doubt,  and  made  you  suspect  and 
misunderstand  me.  But  now  you  know  the  whole, 
my  darling." 

I  felt  my  injustice  and  childish  folly  very  keenly, 
and  told  him  so. 

"  But  I  think,  dear  Ernest,"  I  added,  **  if  you  will 
not  be  hurt  at  my  saying  so,  that  you  have  led  me 
to    it    by  not    letting    me    share    at   once    in  your 


Steppi7ig  Heavenward  155 

cares.  If  you  had  at  the  outset  just  told  me  the 
whole  story,  you  would  have  enlisted  my  sympa- 
thies in  your  father's  behalf,  and  in  your  own.  I 
should  have  seen  the  reasonableness  of  your  break- 
ing up  the  old  home  and  bringing  him  here,  and  it 
would  have  taken  off  the  edge  of  my  bitter,  bitter 
disappointment  about  my  mother." 

*'I  feel  very  sorry  about  that,"  he  said.  "It 
would  be  a  real  pleasure  to  have  her  here.  But  as 
things  are  now,  she  could  not  be  happy  with  us." 

"There  is  no  room,"  I  put  in. 

"  No,  I  am  truly  sorry.  And  now^  my  dear  little 
wife  must  have  patience  with  her  stupid,  blunder- 
ing old  husband,  and  we'll  start  together  once 
more,  fair  and  square.  Don't  wait,  next  time,  till 
you  are  so  full  that  you  boil  over  ;  the  moment  I 
annoy  you  by  my  inconsiderate  ways,  come  right 
and  tell  me." 

So  then  I  called  myself  all  the  horrid  names  I 
could  think  of. 

*'  May  I  ask  one  thing  more,  now  we  are  upon  the 
subject?"  I  said,  at  last.  "Why  couldn't  your 
sister  Helen  have  come  here  instead  of  Martha  ? " 

He  smiled  a  little. 

"  In  the  first  place,  Helen  would  be  perfectly 
crushed  if  she  had  the  care  of  father  in  his  present 
state.  She  is  too  young  to  have  such  responsibility. 
In  the  second  place,  my  brother  John,  with  whom 
she  has  gone  to  live,  has  a  wife  who  would  be  quite 
overwhelmed  by  my  father  and  Martha.  She  is 
one  of  those  little  tender,  soft  souls  one  could  crush 
with  one's  fingers.     Now,  you  are  not  of  that  sort ; 


156  Stepping  Heavenward 

you  have  force  of  character  enough  to  enable  you 
to  live  with  them,  while  maintaining  your  own 
dignity  and  remaining  yourself  in  spite  of  circum- 
stances." 

"  I  thought  you  admired  Martha  above  all  things 
and  wanted  me  to  be  exactly  like  her." 

"  I  do  admire  her,  but  I  do  not  want  you  to  be  like 
anybody  but  yourself." 

"  But  you  nearly  killed  me  by  suggesting  that  I 
should  take  heed  how  I  talked  in  your  father's  pres- 
ence." 

'^Yes,  dear;  it  was  very  stupid  of  me,  but  my 
father  has  a  standard  of  excellence  in  his  mind  by 
which  he  tests  every  woman  ;  this  standard  is  my 
mother.  She  had  none  of  your  life  and  fun  in  her, 
and  perhaps  would  not  have  appreciated  your  droll 
way  of  putting  things  any  better  than  he  and 
Martha  do." 

I  could  not  help  sighing  a  little  when  I  thought 
what  sort  of  people  were  watching  my  every 
word. 

"  There  is  nothing  amiss  to  my  mind,"  Ernest  con- 
tinued, "  in  your  gay  talk  ;  but  my  father  has  his 
own  views  as  to  what  constitutes  a  religious  charac- 
ter and  cannot  understand  that  real  earnestness  and 
real,  genuine  mirthfulness  are  consistent  with  each 
other." 

He  had  to  go  now,  and  we  parted  as  if  for  a 
week's  separation,  this  one  talk  had  brought  us  so 
near  to  each  other.  I  understand  him  now  as  I  never 
have  done,  and  feel  that  he  has  given  me  as  real  a 
proof  of  his  affection  by  unlocking  the  door  of  his 


Stepping  Heavenward  157 

heart  and  letting  me  see  its  cares,  as  I  give  him  in 
my  wild  pranks  and  caresses  and  foolish  speeches. 
How  truly  noble  it  is  in  him  to  take  up  his  father's 
burden  in  this  way  !  I  must  contrive  to  help  to 
ligrhten  it. 


XII. 

November  6. 
Aunty  has  put  me  in  the  way  of  doing  that.  I 
could  not  tell  her  the  whole  story,  of  course,  but  I 
made  her  understand  that  Ernest  needed  money  for 
a  generous  purpose,  and  that  I  wanted  to  help  him 
in  it.  She  said  the  children  needed  both  music  and 
drawing  lessons,  and  that  she  should  be  delighted  if 
I  would  take  them  in  hand.  Aunty  does  not  care  a 
fig  for  accomplishments,  but  I  think  I  am  right  in 
accepting  her  offer,  as  the  children  ought  to  learn  to 
sing  and  to  play  and  to  draw.  Of  course  I  cannot 
have  them  come  here,  as  Ernest's  father  could  not 
bear  the  noise  they  would  make  ;  besides,  I  want  to 
take  him  by  surprise,  and  keep  the  whole  thing  a 
secret. 

Nov.  14. — I  have  seen  by  the  way  Martha  draws 
down  the  corners  of  her  mouth  of  late,  that  I  am 
unusually  out  of  favor  with  her.  This  evening, 
Ernest,  coming  home  quite  late,  found  me  lolling 
back  in  my  chair,  idling,  after  a  hard  day's  work 
with  my  little  cousins,  and  Martha  sewing  nervously 
away  at  the  rate  of  ten  knots  an  hour,  which  is  the 
first  pun  I  ever  made. 

"  Why  will   you  sit  up  and  sew  at  such  a  rate, 
Martha  ?  "  he  asked. 
^158) 


Stepping  Heavenward  159 

She  twitched  at  her  thread,  broke  it,  and  began 
with  a  new  one  before  she  replied. 

**  I  suppose  you  find  it  convenient  to  have  a  whole 
shirt  to  your  back." 

I  saw  then  that  she  was  making  his  shirts  !  It 
made  me  both  hot  and  cold  at  once.  What  must 
Ernest  think  of  me? 

It  is  plain  enough  what  he  thinks  of  her,  for  he 
said,  quite  warmly,  for  him — 

"  This  is  really  too  kind." 

What  right  has  she  to  prowl  round  among  Er- 
nest's things  and  pry  into  the  state  of  his  wardrobe  ? 
If  I  had  not  had  my  time  so  broken  up  with  giving 
lessons,  I  should  have  found  out  that  he  needed 
new  shirts  and  set  to  work  on  them.  Though  I 
must  own  I  hate  shirt-making.  I  could  not  help 
showing  that  I  felt  aggrieved.  Martha  defended 
herself  by  saying  that  she  knew  young  people 
would  be  young  people,  and  would  gad  about,  shirts 
or  no  shirts.  Now  it  is  not  her  fault  that  she  thinks 
I  waste  my  time  gadding  about,  but  I  am  just  as 
angry  with  her  as  if  she  did.  Oh,  why  couldn't  I 
have  had  Helen,  to  be  a  pleasant  companion  and 
friend  to  me,  instead  of  this  old — well  I  won't  say 
what. 

And  really,  with  so  much  to  make  me  happy,  what 
would  become  of  me  if  I  had  no  trials  ? 

Nov.  15. — To-day  Martha  has  a  house-cleaning 
mania,  and  has  dragged  me  into  it  by  representing 
the  sin  and  misery  of  those  deluded  motals  who 
think  servants  know  how  to  sweep  and  to  scrub.    In 


i6o  Stepping  Heavenward 

spite  of  my  resolution  not  to  get  under  her  thumb, 
I  have  somehow  let  her  rule  and  reign  over  me  to 
such  an  extent  that  I  can  hardly  sit  up  long  enough 
to  write  this.  Does  the  whole  duty  of  woman  con- 
sist in  keeping  her  house  distressingly  clean  and 
prim  ;  in  making  and  baking  and  preserving  and 
pickling  ;  in  climbing  to  the  top  shelves  of  closets 
lest  haply  a  little  dust  should  lodge  there,  and  get- 
ting down  on  her  hands  and  knees  to  inspect  the 
carpet  ?  The  truth  is  there  is  not  one  point  of  sym- 
pathy between  Martha  and  myself,  not  one.  One 
would  think  that  our  love  to  Ernest  would  furnish 
it.  But  her  love  aims  at  the  abasement  of  his  char- 
acter and  mine  at  its  elevation.  She  thinks  I  should 
bow  down  to  and  worship  him,  jump  up  and  offer 
him  my  chair  when  he  comes  in,  feed  him  with  every 
unwholesome  dainty  he  fancies,  and  feel  myself  hon- 
ored by  his  acceptance  of  these  services.  I  think  it 
is  for  him  to  rise  and  offer  me  a  seat,  because  I  am 
a  woman  and  his  wife  ;  and  that  a  silly  subservience 
on  my  part  is  degrading  to  him  and  to  myself.  And 
I  am  afraid  I  make  known  these  sentiments  to  her 
in  a  most  unpalatable  way. 

Nov.  i8. — Oh,  I  am  so  happy  that  I  sing  for  joy  ! 
Dear  Ernest  has  given  me  such  a  delightful  surprise  ! 
He  says  he  has  persuaded  James  to  come  and  spend 
his  college  days  here,  and  finally  study  medicine 
with  him.  Dear,  darling  old  James  !  He  is  to  be 
here  to-morrow.  He  is  to  have  the  little  hall  bed- 
room fitted  up  for  him,  and  he  will  be  here  several 
years.     Next   to  having  mother,  this   is  the   nicest 


Stepping  Heavenward  i6i 

thing  that  could  happen.  We  love  each  other  so 
dearly,  and  get  along  so  beautifully  together.  I 
wonder  how  he'll  like  Martha  with  her  grim  ways, 
and  Ernest's  father  with  his  melancholy  ones. 

Nov.  30. — James  has  come,  and  the  house  already 
seems  lighter  and  cheerier.  He  is  not  in  the  least 
annoyed  by  Martha  or  her  father,  and  though  he  is 
as  jovial  as  the  day  is  long,  they  actually  seem  to 
like  him.  True  to  her  theory  on  the  subject,  Martha 
invariably  rises  at  his  entrance,  and  offers  him  her 
seat !  He  pretends  not  to  see  it,  and  runs  to  get 
one  for  her !  Then  she  takes  comfort  in  seeing  him 
consume  her  good  things,  since  his  gobbling  them 
down  is  a  sort  of  tacit  tribute  to  their  merits. 

Mrs.  Embury  was  here  to-day.  She  says  there  is 
not  much  the  matter  with  Ernest's  father,  that  he 
has  only  got  the  hypo.  I  don't  know  exactly  what 
this  is,  but  I  believe  it  is  thinking  something  is  the 
matter  with  you  when  there  isn't.  At  any  rate  I  put 
it  to  you,  my  dear  old  journal,  whether  it  is  pleasant 
to  live  with  people  who  behave  in  this  way  ? 

In  the  first  place  alP  he  talks  about  is  his  fancied 
disease.  He  gets  book  after  book  from  the  office 
and  studies  and  ponders  his  case  till  he  grows  quite 
yellow.  One  day  he  says  he  has  found  out  the  seat 
of  his  disease  to  be  the  liver,  and  changes  his  diet 
to  meet  that  view  of  the  case.  Martha  has  to  do 
him  up  in  mustard,  and  he  takes  kindly  to  blue  pills. 
In  a  day  or  two  he  finds  his  liver  is  all  right,  but 
that  his  brain  is  all  wrong.  The  mustard  goes  now 
to  the  back  of  his  neck,  and  he  takes  solemn  leave 


1 62  Stepping  Heavenward 

of  us  all,  with  the  assurance  that  his  last  hour  has 
come.  Finding  that  he  survives  the  night,  however, 
he  transfers  the  seat  of  his  disease  to  the  heart, 
spends  hours  in  counting  his  pulse,  refuses  to  take 
exercise  lest  he  should  bring  on  palpitations,  and 
warns  us  all  to  prepare  to  follow  him.  Everybody 
who  comes  in  has  to  hear  the  whole  story,  every  one 
prescribes  something,  and  he  tries  each  remedy  in 
turn.  These  all  failing  to  reach  his  case,  he  is 
plunged  into  ten-fold  gloom.  He  complains  that 
God  has  cast  him  off  forever,  and  that  his  sins  are 
like  the  sands  of  the  sea  for  number.  I  am  such  a 
goose  that  I  listen  to  all  these  varying  moods  and 
symptoms  with  the  solemn  conviction  that  he  is  go- 
ing to  die  immediately  ;  I  bathe  his  head,  and  count 
his  pulse,  and  fan  him,  and  take  down  his  dying 
depositions  for  Ernest's  solace  after  he  has  gone. 
And  I  talk  theology  to  him  by  the  hour,  while  Mar- 
tha bakes  and  brews  in  the  kitchen,  or  makes  mince 
pies,  after  eating  which  one  might  give  him  the 
whole  Bible  at  one  dose,  without  the  smallest  effect. 

To-day  I  stood  by  his  chair,  holding  his  head  and 
whispering  such  consoling  passages  as  I  thought 
might  comfort  him,  when  James  burst  in,  singing 
and  tossing  his  cap  in  the  air. 

**Come  here,  young  man,  and  hear  my  last  testi- 
mony. I  am  about  to  die.  The  end  draws  near,'* 
were  the  sepulchral  words  that  made  him  bring  his 
song  to  an  abrupt  close. 

"  I  shall  take  it  very  ill  of  you,  sir,"  quoth  James, 
"  if  you  go  and  die  before  giving  me  that  cane  you 
promised  me." 


Stepping  Heavenward  163 

Who  could  die  decently  under  such  circumstances  ? 
The  poor  old  man  revived  immediately,  but  looked 
a  good  deal  injured.  After  James  had  gone  out,  he 
said  : 

"It  is  very  painful  to  one  who  stands  on  the  very 
verge  of  the  eternal  world  to  see  the  young  so 
thoughtless." 

*' But  James  is  not  thoughtless,"  I  said.  "It  is 
only  his  merry  way." 

"  Daughter  Katherine,"  he  went  on,  "you  are  very 
kind  to  the  old  man,  and  you  will  have  your  reward. 
But  I  wish  I  could  feel  sure  of  your  state  before 
God.  I  greatly  fear  you  deceive  yourself,  and  that 
the  ground  of  your  hope  is  delusive." 

I  felt  the  blood  rush  to  my  face.  At  first  I  was 
staggered  a  good  deal.  But  is  a  mortal  man  who 
cannot  judge  of  his  own  state  to  decide  mine  ?  It 
is  true  he  sees  my  faults  ;  anybody  can,  who  looks. 
But  he  does  not  see  my  prayers,  or  my  tears  of 
shame  and  sorrow  ;  he  does  not  know  how  many 
hasty  words  1  repress  ;  how  earnestly  I  am  aiming, 
all  the  day  long,  to  do  right  in  all  the  little  details 
of  life.  He  does  not  know  that  it  costs  my  fastidi- 
ous nature  an  appeal  to  God  every  time  I  kiss  his 
poor  old  face,  and  that  what  would  be  an  act  of 
worship  in  him  is  an  act  of  self-denial  in  me.  How 
should  he?  The  Christian  life  is  a  hidden  life, 
known  only  by  the  eye  that  seeth  in  secret.  And  I 
do  believe  this  life  is  mine. 

Up  to  this  time  I  have  contrived  to  get  along 
without  calling  Ernest's  father  by  any  name.  I  mean 
now  to  make  mvself  turn  over  a  new  leaf. 


164  Stepping  Heavemvard 

December  7. — James  is  my  perpetual  joy  and 
pride.  We  read  and  sing  together,  just  as  we  used 
to  do  in  our  old  school  days.  Martha  sits  by,  with 
her  work,  grimly  approving  ;  for  is  he  not  a  man  ? 
And,  as  if  my  cup  of  felicity  were  not  full  enough, 
I  am  to  have  my  dear  old  pastor  come  here  to  settle 
over  this  church,  and  I  shall  once  more  hear  his  be- 
loved voice  in  the  pulpit.  Ernest  has  managed  the 
whole  thing.  He  says  the  state  of  Dr.  C.'s  health 
makes  the  change  quite  necessary,  and  that  he  can 
avail  himself  of  the  best  surgical  advice  this  city 
affords,  in  case  his  old  difficulties  recur.  I  rejoice 
for  myself  and  for  this  church,  but  mother  will  miss 
him  sadly. 

I  am  leading  a  very  busy,  happy  life,  only  I  am, 
perhaps,  working  a  little  too  hard.  What  with  my 
scholars,  the  extra  qimount  of  housework  Martha 
contrives  to  get  out  of  me,  the  practicing  I  must 
keep  up  if  I  am  to  teach,  and  the  many  steps  I  have 
to  take,  I  have  not  only  no  idle  moments,  but  none 
too  many  for  recreation.  Ernest  is  so  busy  himself 
that  he  fortunately  does  not  see  what  a  race  I  am 
running. 

January  t6,  1838. — The  first  anniversary  of  our 
wedding-day,  and  like  all  days,  has  had  its  lights 
and  its  shades.  I  thought  I  would  celebrate  it  in 
such  a  way  as  to  give  pleasure  to  everybody,  and 
spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  getting  up  a  little  gift 
for  each,  from  Ernest  and  myself.  And  I  took  special 
pains  to  have  a  good  dinner,  particularly  for  father. 
Yes,  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  call  him  by  that  sacred 


Stepping  Heavenward  165 

name  for  the  first  time  to-day,  eost  what  it  may. 
But  he  shut  himself  up  in  his  room  directly  after 
breakfast^  and  when  dinner  was  ready  refused  to 
come  down.  This  cast  a  gloom  over  us  all.  Then 
Martha  was  nearly  distracted  because  a  valuable 
dish  had  been  broken  in  the  kitchen,  and  could  not 
recover  her  equanimity  at  all.  Worst  of  all  Ernest, 
who  is  not  in  the  least  sentimental,  never  said  a 
word  about  our  wedding-day,  and  didn't  give  me  a 
thing  !  I  have  kept  hoping  all  day  that  he  would 
make  me  some  little  present,  no  matter  how  small, 
but  now  it  is  too  late  ;  he  has  gone  out  to  be  gone 
all  night,  probabl}^  and  thus  ends  the  day,  an  utter 
failure. 

I  feel  a  good  deal  disappointed.  Besides,  when 
I  look  back  over  this  my  first  year  of  married  life, 
I  do  not  feel  satisfied  with  myself  at  all.  I  can't 
help  feeling  that  I  have  been  selfish  and  unreason- 
able towards  Ernest  in  a  great  many  ways,  and  as 
contrary  towards  Martha  as  if  I  enjoyed  a  state  of 
warfare  between  us.  And  I  have  felt  a  good  deal 
of  secret  contempt  for  her  father,  with  his  moods 
and  tenses,  his  pill-boxes  and  his  plasters,  his  feast- 
ings  and  his  fastings.  I  do  not  understand  how  a 
Christian  can  make  such  slow  progress  as  I  do,  and 
how  old  faults  can  hang  on  so. 

If  I  had  made  any  real  progress,  should  I  not  be 
sensible  of  it  ? 

I  have  been  reading  over  the  early  part  of  this 
journal,  and  when  I  came  to  the  conversation  I  had 
with  Mrs.  Cabot,  in  which  I  made  a  list  of  my  wants, 
I  was  astonished  that   I  could   ever  have  had  such 


1 66  Stepping  Heavenward 

contemptible  ones.  Let  me  think  what  I  really  and 
truly  most  want  now. 

First  of  all,  then,  if  God  should  speak  to  me  at 
this  moment  and  offer  to  give  just  one  thing,  and 
that  alone,  I  should  say  without  hesitation. 

Love  to  Thee,  O  my  Master ! 

Next  to  that,  if  I  could  have  one  thing  more,  I 
would  choosfe  to  be  a  thoroughly  unselfish,  devoted 
wife.  Down  in  my  secret  heart  I  know  there  lurks 
another  wish,  which  I  am  ashamed  of.  It  is  that  in 
some  way  or  other,  some  right  way,  I  could  be  de- 
livered from  Martha  and  her  father.  I  shall  never 
be  any  better  while  they  are  here  to  tempt  me  ! 

February  i. — Ernest  spoke  to-day  of  one  of  his 
patients,  a  Mrs.  Campbell,  who  is  a  great  sufferer, 
but  whom  he  describes  as  the  happiest,  most  cheer- 
ful person  he  ever  met.  He  rarely  speaks  of  his 
patients.  Indeed,  he  rarely  speaks  of  anything.  I 
felt  strangely  attracted  by  what  he  said  of  her,  and 
asked  so  many  questions  that  at  last  he  proposed  to 
take  me  to  see  her.  I  caught  at  the  idea  very 
eagerly,  and  have  just  come  home  from  the  visit 
greatly  moved  and  touched.  She  is  confined  to  her 
bed,  and  is  quite  helpless,  and  at  times  her  suffer- 
ings are  terrible.  She  received  me  with  a  sweet 
smile,  however,  and  led  me  on  to  talk  more  of  my- 
self than  I  ought  to  have  done.  I  wish  Ernest  had 
not  left  me  alone  with  her,  so  that  I  should  have  had 
the  restraint  of  his  presence. 

Feb.  14. — I  am  so  fascinated  with  Mrs.  Campbell 


Stepping  Heavenward  167 

that  I  cannot  help  going  to  see  her  again  and  again. 
She  seems  to  me  like  one  whose  conflict  and  dismay 
are  all  over,  and  who  looks  on  other  human  beings 
with  an  almost  divine  love  and  pity.  To  look  at  life 
as  she  does,  to  feel  as  she  does,  to  have  such  a  per- 
sonal love  to  Christ  as  she  has,  I  would  willingly  go 
through  every  trial  and  sorrow.  When  I  told  her 
so,  she  smiled,  a  little  sadly. 

**  Much  as  you  envy  me,"  she  said,  "  my  faith  is 
not  yet  so  strong  that  I  do  not  shudder  at  the  thought 
of  a  young  enthusiastic  girl  like  you,  going  through 
all  I  have  done  in  order  to  learn  a  few  simple  les- 
sons which  God  was  willing  to  teach  me  sooner  and 
without  the  use  of  a  rod,  if  I  had  been  ready  for 
them." 

"  But  you  are  so  happy  now,"  I  said. 

"Yes,  I  am  happy,"  she  replied,  "and  such  hap- 
piness is  worth  all  it  costs.  If  my  flesh  shudders  at 
the  remembrance  of  what  I  have  endured,  my  faith 
sustains  God  through  the  whole.  But  tell  me  a  lit- 
tle more  about  yourself,  my  dear.  I  should  so  love 
to  give  you  a  helping  hand,  if  I  might." 

"You  know,"  I  began,  "dear  Mrs.  Campbell,  that 
there  are  some  trials  that  cannot  do  us  any  good. 
They  only  call  out  all  there  is  in  us  that  is  unlovely 
and  severe.'* 

"  I  don't  know  of  any  such  trials,"  she  replied. 

"  Suppose  you  had  to  live  with  people  who  were 
perfectly  uncongenial  ;  who  misunderstood  you,  and 
who  were  always  getting  into  your  way  as  stum- 
bling-blocks ?" 

"  If  I  were  living  with  them  and  they  made  me 


i68  Stepping  Heavenwa7^d 

unhappy,  I  would  ask  God  to  relieve  me  of  this  trial 
if  He  thought  it  best.  If  He  did  not  think  it  best, 
I  would  then  try  to  find  out  the  reason.  He  might 
have  two  reasons.  One  would  be  the  good  they 
might  do  me.  The  other  the  good  I  might  do 
them." 

"  But  in  the  case  I  was  supposing,  neither  party 
can  be  of  the  least  use  to  the  other." 

"  You  forget  perhaps  the  indirect  good  one  may 
gain  by  living  with  uncongenial,  tempting  persons. 
First  such  people  do  good  by  the  very  self-denial 
and  self-control  their  mere  presence  demands.  Then, 
their  making  one's  home  less  home-like  and  perfect 
than  it  would  be  in  their  absence,  may  help  to  ren- 
der our  real  home  in  heaven  more  attractive." 

"  But  suppose  one  cannot  exercise  self-control, 
and  is  always  flying  out  and  flaring  up  ?"  I  objected. 

"  I  should  say  that  a  Christian  who  was  always 
doing  that,"  she  replied,  gravely,  "  was  in  pressing 
need  of  just  the  trial  God  sent  when  He  shut  him  up 
to  such  a  life  of  hourly  temptation.  We  only  know 
ourselves  and  what  we  really  are,  when  the  force  of 
circumstances  bring  us  out." 

"  It  is  very  mortifying  and  painful  to  find  how 
weak  one  is." 

"  That  is  true.  But  our  mortifications  are  some  of 
God's  best  physicians,  and  do  much  toward  healing 
our  pride  and  self-conceit." 

"  Do  you  really  think,  then,  that  God  deliberately 
appoints  to  some  of  His  children  a  lot  where  their 
worst  passions  are  excited,  with  a  desire  to  bring 
good  out  of  this  seeming  evil  ?     Why  I  have  always 


Stepping  Heavenward  169 

supposed  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to  me, 
for  instance,  would  be  to  have  a  home  exactly  to  my 
mind  ;  a  home  where  all  were  forbearing,  loving 
and  good-tempered,  a  sort  of  little  heaven  below." 

*'  If  you  have  not  such  a  home,  my  dear,  are  you 
sure  it  is  not  partly  your  own  fault  ?'* 

"  Of  course  it  is  my  own  fault.  Because  I  am  very 
quick-tempered  I  want  to  live  with  good-tempered 
people." 

"  That  is  very  benevolent  in  you,"  she  said,  archly. 

I  colored,  but  went  on. 

"  Oh,  [  know  I  am  selfish.  And  therefore  I  want 
to  live  with  those  who  are  not  so.  I  want  to  live 
with  persons  to  whom  I  can  look  for  an  example, 
and  who  will  constantly  stimulate  me  to  something 
higher." 

"  But  if  God  chooses  quite  another  lot  for  you, 
you  may  be  sure  that  He  sees  that  you  need  some- 
thing totally  different  from  what  you  want.  You 
said  just  now  that  you  would  gladly  go  through  any 
trial  in  order  to  attain  a  personal  love  to  Christ  that 
should  become  the  ruling  principle  of  your  life. 
Now  as  soon  as  God  sees  this  desire  in  you,  is  He 
not  kind,  is  He  not  wise,  in  appointing  such  trials 
as  He  knows  will  lead  to  this  end  ?" 

I  meditated  long  before  I  answered.  Was  God 
really  asking  me  not  merely  to  let  Martha  and  her 
father  live  with  me  on  sufferance,  but  to  rejoice  that 
He  had  seen  fit  to  let  them  harass  and  embitter  my 
domestic  life?" 

"  I  thank  you  for  the  suggestion,"  I  said,  at  last. 

**  I  want  to  say  one  thing  more,"  Mrs.  Campbell 


170  Stepping  Heavenward 

resumed,  after  another  pause.  ^' We  look  at  our  fel- 
low-men too  much  from  the  standpoint  of  our  own 
prejudices.  They  may  be  wrong,  they  may  have 
their  faults  and  foibles,  they  may  call  out  all  that  is 
meanest  and  most  hateful  in  us.  But  they  are  not 
all  wrong  ;  they  have  their  virtues,  and  when  they 
excite  our  bad  passions  by  their  own,  they  may  be 
as  ashamed  and  sorry  as  we  are  irritated.  And  I 
think  some  of  the  best,  most  contrite,  most  useful  of 
men  and  women,  whose  prayers  prevail  with  God, 
and  bring  down  blessings  into  the  homes  in  which 
they  dwell,  often  possess  unlovely  traits  that  furnish 
them  with  their  best  discipline.  The  very  fact  that 
they  are  ashamed  of  themselves  drives  them  to  God  ; 
they  feel  safe  in  His  presence,  and  while  they  lie  in 
the  very  dust  of  self-confusion  at  His  feet  they  are 
dear  to  Him  and  have  power  with  Him." 

"  That  is  a  comforting  word,  and  I  thank  you  for 
it,"  I  said.  My  heart  was  full,  and  I  longed  to  stay 
and  hear  her  talk  on.  But  I  had  already  exhausted 
her  strength.  On  the  way  home  I  felt  as  I  suppose 
people  do  when  they  have  caught  a  basketful  of 
fish.  I  always  am  delighted  to  catch  a  new  idea  ;  I 
thought  I  would  get  all  the  benefit  out  of  Martha 
and  her  father,  and  as  I  went  down  to  tea,  after  tak- 
ing off  my  things,  felt  like  a  holy  martyr  who  had 
as  good  as  won  a  crown. 

I  found,  however,  that  the  butter  was  horrible. 
Martha  had  insisted  that  she  alone  was  capable  of 
selecting  that  article,  and  had  ordered  a  quantity 
from  her  own  village  which   I  could  not  eat  myself 


Stepping  Heavenward  i  7 1 

and  was  ashamed  to  have  on  my  table.  I  pushed 
back  my  plate  in  disgust. 

"  I  hope,  Martha,  that  you  have  not  ordered  much 
of  this  odious  stuff !"  I  cried. 

Martha  replied  that  it  was  of  the  very  first  qual- 
ity, and  appealed  to  her  father  and  Ernest,  who  both 
agreed  with  her,  which  I  thought  very  unkind  and 
unjust.  I  rushed  into  a  hot  debate  on  the  subject, 
during  which  Ernest  maintained  that  ominous 
silence  that  indicates  his  not  being  pleased,  and  that 
irritated  and  led  me  on.  I  would  far  rather  he 
should  say,  ^^  Katy,  you  are  behaving  like  a  child, 
and  I  wish  you  would  stop  talking." 

"  Martha,"  I  said,  "  you  will  persist  that  the  but- 
ter is  good,  because  you  ordered  it.  If  you  will  only 
own  that,  I  won't  say  another  word." 

"  I  can't  say  it,"  she  returned.  "  Mrs.  Jones*  butter 
is  invariably  good.  I  never  heard  it  found  fault 
with  before.  The  trouble  is  you  are  so  hard  to 
please." 

*'No,  I  am  not.  And  you  can't  convince  me  that 
if  the  buttermilk  is  not  perfectly  worked  out,  the 
butter  could  be  fit  to  eat." 

This  speech  I  felt  to  be  a  masterpiece.  It  was 
time  to  let  her  know  how  learned  I  was  on  the  sub- 
ject of  butter,  though  I  wasn't  brought  up  to  make 
it  or  see  it  made. 

But  here  Ernest  put  in  a  little  oil. 

"  I  think  you  are  both  right,"  he  said.  **  Mrs. 
Jones  makes  good  butter,  but  just  this  once  she 
failed.     I  dare  say  it  won't  happen  again,  and  mean- 


172  Stepping  Heavenward 

while  this  can  be  used  for  making  seed-cakes,  and 
we  can  get  a  new  supply.'* 

This  was  his  masterpiece.  A  whole  firkin  of  but- 
ter made  up  into  seed-cakes  ! 

Martha  turned  to  encounter  him  on  that  head, 
and  I  slipped  off  to  my  room  to  look,  with  a  miser- 
able sense  of  disappointment,  at  my  folly  and  weak- 
ness in  making  so  much  ado  about  nothing.  I  find 
it  hard  to  believe  that  it  can  do  me  good  to  have 
people  live  with  me  who  like  rancid  butter,  and  who 
disagree  with  me  in  everything  else. 


XIII. 

March  i. 

Aunty  sent  for  us  all  to  dine  with  her  to-day  to 
celebrate  Lucy's  fifteenth  birthday.  Ever  since 
Lucy  behaved  so  heroically  in  regard  to  little 
Emma,  really  saving  her  life,  Ernest  says  Aunty 
seems  to  feel  that  she  cannot  do  enough  for  her. 
The  child  has  taken  the  most  unaccountable  fancy 
to  me,  strangely  enough,  and  when  we  got  there  she 
came  to  meet  me  with  something  like  cordiality. 

"Mamma  permits  me  to  be  the  bearer  of  agree- 
able news,"  she  said,  ^'  because  this  is  my  birthday. 
A  friend,  of  whom  you  are  very  fond,  has  just  ar- 
rived, and  is  impatient  to  embrace  you." 

"  To  embrace  me  ?"  I  cried.  "  You  foolish  child  !" 
And  the  next  moment  I  found  myself  in  my  mother's 


arms 


The  despised  Lucy  had  been  the  means  of  giving 
me  this  pleasure.  It  seems  that  Aunty  had  told  her 
she  should  choose  her  own  birthday  treat,  and  that, 
after  solemn  meditation,  she  had  decided  that  to  see 
dear  mother  again  would  be  the  most  agreeable  thing 
she  could  think  of.  I  have  never  told  you,  dear  jour- 
nal, why  I  did  not  go  home  last  summer,  and  never 
shall.  If  you  choose  to  fancy  that  I  couldn't  afford 
it  you  can  ! 
(173) 


174  Stepping  Heavenward 

Well  !  wasn't  it  nice  to  see  mother,  and  to  read  in 
her  dear,  loving  face  that  she  was  satisfied  with  her 
poor,  wayward  Katy,  and  fond  of  her  as  ever !  I 
only  longed  for  Ernest's  coming,  that  she  might  see 
us  together,  and  see  how  he  loved  me. 

He  came  ;  I  rushed  out  to  meet  him  and  dragged 
him  in.  But  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  grown  stupid 
and  awkward.  All  through  the  dinner  I  watched 
for  one  of  those  loving  glances  which  should  pro- 
claim to  mother  the  good  understanding  between 
us,  but  watched  in  vain. 

"  It  will  come  by  and  by,"  I  thought.  "When  we 
get  by  ourselves  mother  will  see  how  fond  of  me  he 
is."  But  "by  and  by"  it  was  just  the  same.  I  was 
pre-occupied,  and  mother  asked  me  if  I  were  well. 
It  was  all  very  foolish  I  dare  say,  and  yet  I  did  want 
to  have  her  know  that  with  all  my  faults  he  still 
loves  me.  Then,  besides  this  disappointment,  I 
have  to  reproach  myself  for  misunderstanding  poor 
Lucy  as  I  have  done.  Because  she  was  not  all  fire 
and  fury  like  myself,  I  need  not  have  assumed  that 
she  had  no  heart.  It  is  just  like  me  ;  I  hope  I  shall 
never  be  so  severe  in  my  judgment  again. 

April  30. — Mother  has  just  gone.  Her  visit  has 
done  me  a  world  of  good.  She  found  out  some- 
thing to  like  in  father  at  once,  and  then  something 
good  in  Martha.  She  says  father's  sufferings  are 
real,  not  fancied  ;  that  his  error  is  not  knowing 
where  to  locate  his  disease,  and  is  starving  one 
week  and  over-eating  the  next.  She  charged  me 
not  to  lay  up  future  misery  for  myself  by  misjudg- 


Stepping  Heavenward  175 

ing  him  now,  and  to  treat  him  as  a  daughter  ought 
without  the  smallest  regard  to  his  appreciation  of 
it.  Then  as  to  Martha,  she  declares  that  I  have  no 
idea  how  much  she  does  to  reduce  our  expenses,  to 
keep  the  house  in  order  and  to  relieve  us  from  care. 
*^  But,  mother,"  I  said,  "  did  you  notice  what  horrid 
butter  we  have  ?     And  it  is  all  her  doing." 

"  But  the  butter  won't  last  forever,"  she  replied. 
"  Don't  make  yourself  miserable  about  such  a  trifle. 
For  my  part,  it  is  a  great  relief  to  me  to  know  that 
with  your  delicate  health  you  have  this  tower  of 
strength  to  lean  on." 

"  But  my  health  is  not  delicate,  mother." 

"  You  certainly  look  pale  and  thin." 

"  Oh,  well,"  I  said,  whereupon  she  fell  to  giving 
me  all  sorts  of  advice  about  getting  up  on  step-lad- 
ders, and  climbing  on  chairs,  and  sewing  too  much 
and  all  that. 


June  15. — The  weather,  or  something,  makes  me 
rather  languid  and  stupid.  I  begin  to  think  that 
Martha  is  not  an  entire  nuisance  in  the  house.  I 
have  just  been  to  see  Mrs.  Campbell.  In  answer  to 
my  routine  of  lamentations,  she  took  up  a  book  and 
read  me  what  was  called,  as  nearly  as  I  can  remem- 
ber, "  Four  steps  that  lead  to  peace." 

"  Be  desirous  of  doing  the  will  of  another,  rather 
than  thine  own." 

"Choose  always  to  have  less,  rather  than  more." 

**  Seek  always  the  lowest  place,  and  to  be  inferior 
to  every  one." 


176  Stepping  Heavenward 

^^  Wish  always,  and  pray,  that  the  will  of  God  may 
be  wholly  fulfilled  in  thee.'* 

I  was  much  struck  with  these  directions  ;  but  I 
said,  despondently : 

"  If  peace  can  only  be  found  at  the  end  of  such 
hard  roads,  I  am  sure  I  shall  always  be  miserable.'* 

"Are  you  miserable  now? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  just  now  I  am.  I  do  not  mean  that  I  have 
no  happiness  ;  I  mean  that  I  am  in  a  disheartened 
mood,  weary  of  going  round  and  round  in  circles, 
committing  the  same  sins,  uttering  the  same  confes- 
sions, and  making  no  advance." 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  after  a  time,  "have  you  a 
perfectly  distinct,  settled  view  of  what  Christ  is  to 
the  human  soul  ?" 

*'  I  do  not  know.  I  understand,  of  course,  more  or 
less  perfectly,  that  my  salvation  depends  on  Him 
alone  ;  is  His  gift." 

"  But  do  you  see,  with  equal  clearness,  that  your 
sanctification  must  be  as  fully  His  gift,  as  your  sal- 
vation is  ? " 

"  No,"  I  said,  after  a  little  thought.  "  I  have  had 
a  feeling  that  He  has  done  His  part,  and  now  I  must 
do  mine." 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  with  much  tenderness  and 
feeling,  "  then  the  first  thing  you  have  to  do  is  to 
learn  Christ." 

"  But  how  ?  " 

"  On  your  knees,  my  child,  on  your  knees  !  "  She 
was  tired,  and  I  came  away  ;  and  I  have  indeed 
been  on  my  knees. 


Stepping  Heavenward  177 

July  i. — I  think  that  I  do  begin,  dimly  it  is  true, 
but  really,  to  understand  that  this  terrible  work 
which  I  was  trying  to  do  myself,  is  Christ's  work, 
and  must  be  done  and  will  be  done  by  Him.  I  take 
some  pleasure  in  the  thought,  and  wonder  why  it 
has  all  this  time  been  hidden  from  me,  especially 
after  what  Dr.  C.  said  in  his  letter.  But  I  get  hold 
of  this  idea  in  a  misty,  unsatisfactory  way.  If  Christ 
is  to  do  all,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  And  have  I  not  been 
told,  over  and  over  again,  that  the  Christian  life  is 
one  of  conflict,  and  that  I  am  to  fight  like  a  good 
soldier  ? 


August  5. — Dr.  Cabot  has  come  just  as  I  need 
him  most.  I  long  for  one  of  those  good  talks  with 
him  which  always  used  to  strengthen  me  so.  I  feel 
a  perfect  weight  of  depression  that  makes  me  a 
burden  to  myself  and  to  poor  Ernest,  who,  after 
visiting  sick  people  all  day,  needs  to  come  home  to 
a  cheerful  wife.  But  he  comforts  me  with  the  as- 
surance that  this  is  merely  physical  despondency, 
and  that  I  shall  get  over  it  by  and  by.  How  kind, 
how  even  tender  he  is  !  My  heart  is  getting  all  it 
wants  from  him,  only  I  am  too  stupid  to  enjoy  him 
as  I  ought.  Father,  too,  talks  far  less  about  his  own 
bad  feelings,  and  seems  greatly  concerned  at  mine. 
As  to  Martha  I  have  done  trying  to  get  sympathy 
or  love  from  her.  She  cannot  help  it,  I  suppose, 
but  she  is  very  hard  and  dry  towards  me,  and  I  feel 
such  a  longing  to  throw  myself  on  her  mercy,  and 
to  have  one  little  smile  to  assure  me  that  she  has 


178  Stepping  Heavenward 

forgiven  me  for  being  Ernest's  wife,  and  so  different 
from  what  she  would  have  chosen  for  him. 

Dr.  Elliott  to  Mrs.  Mortimer : 

October  4,  1838. 
My  Dear  Katy's  Mother  : — You  will  rejoice  with 
us  when  I  tell  you  that  we  are  the  happy  parents  of 
a  very  fine  little  boy.  My  dearest  wife  sends  **an 
ocean  of  love  '*  to  you,  and  says  she  will  write  her- 
self to-morrow.  That  I  shall  not  be  very  likely  to 
allow,  as  you  will  imagine.  She  is  doing  extremely 
well,  and  we  have  everything  to  be  grateful  for. 
Your  affectionate  Son, 

J.  E.  Elliott. 

Mrs.  Crofton  to  Mrs.  Mortimer : 

I  am  sure,  my  dear  sister,  that  the  doctor  has  not 
written  you  more  than  five  lines  about  the  great 
event  which  has  made  such  a  stir  in  our  domestic 
circle.  So  I  must  try  to  supply  the  details  you  will 
want  to  hear 1  need  not  add  that  our  dar- 
ling Katy  behaved  nobly.  Her  self-forgetfulness 
and  consideration  for  others  were  really  beautiful 
throughout  the  whole  scene.  The  doctor  may  well 
be  proud  of  her,  and  I  took  care  to  tell  him  so  in 
presence  of  that  dreadful  sister  of  his.  I  never  met 
so  angular,  so  uncompromising  a  person  as  she  is 
in  all  my  life.  She  does  not  understand  Katy,  and 
never  can,  and  I  find  it  hard  to  realize  that  living 
with  such  a  person  can  furnish  a  wholesome  disci- 
pline, which  is  even  more  desirable  than  the  most 


Stepping  Heavenward  179 

delightful  home.  And  yet  I  not  only  know  that  this 
is  true  in  the  abstract,  but  I  see  that  it  is  so  in  the 
actual  fact.  Katy  is  acquiring  both  self-control  and 
patience,  and  her  Christian  character  is  developing 
in  a  way  that  amazes  me.  I  cannot  but  hope  that 
God  will,  in  time,  deliver  her  from  this  trial  ;  indeed, 
I  feel  sure  that  when  it  has  done  its  beneficent  work 
He  will  do  so.  Martha  Elliott  is  a  good  woman, 
but  her  goodness  is  without  grace  or  beauty.  She 
takes  excellent  care  of  Katy,  keeps  her  looking  as  if 
she  had  just  come  out  of  a  band-box,  as  the  saying 
is,  and  always  has  her  room  in  perfect  order.  But 
one  misses  the  loving  word,  the  re-assuring  smile, 
the  delicate,  thoughtful  little  forbearance,  that  ought 
to  adorn  every  sick-room,  and  light  it  up  with  gen- 
uine sunshine.  There  is  one  comfort  about  it,  how- 
ever, and  that  is,  that  I  can  spoil  dear  Katy  to  my 
heart's  content. 

As  to  the  baby,  he  is  a  fine  little  fellow,  and  his 
mother  is  so  happy  in  him  that  she  can  afford  to  do 
without  some  other  pleasures.  I  shall  write  again 
in  a  few  days.  Meanwhile,  you  may  rest  assured 
that  I  love  your  Katy  almost  as  well  as  you  do,  and 
shall  be  with  her  most  of  the  time  till  she  is  quite 
herself  again. 

James  to  his  mother : 

Of  course  there  never  was  such  a  baby  before  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  Katy  is  so  nearly  wild  with 
joy,  that  you  can't  get  her  to  eat  or  sleep  or  do  any 
of  the  proper  things  that  her  charming  sister-in-law 


1 8o  Stepping  Heavenward 

thinks  becoming  under  the  circumstances.  You 
never  saw  anything  so  pretty  in  your  life,  as  she  is 
now.  I  hope  the  doctor  is  as  much  in  love  with  her 
as  I  am.  He  is  the  best  fellow  in  the  world,  and 
Katy  is  just  the  wife  for  him. 

Nov.  4. — My  darling  baby  is  a  month  old  to-day. 
I  never  saw  such  a  splendid  child.  I  love  him  so 
that  I  lie  awake  nights  to  watch  him.  Martha  says, 
in  her  dry  way,  that  I  had  better  show  my  love  by 
sleeping  and  eating  for  him,  and  Ernest  says  I  shall, 
as  soon  as  I  get  stronger.  But  I  don't  get  strong, 
and  that  discourages  me. 

Nov.  26. — I  begin  to  feel  rather  more  like  myself, 
and  as  if  I  could  write  with  less  labor.  I  have  had 
in  these  few  past  weeks  such  a  revelation  of  suffer- 
ing, and  such  a  revelation  of  joy,  as  mortal  mind 
can  hardly  conceive  of.  The  world  I  live  in  now  is 
a  new  world  ;  a  world  full  of  suffering  that  leads  to 
unutterable  felicity.  Oh,  this  precious,  precious 
baby  !  How  can  I  thank  God  enough  for  giving 
him  to  me  ! 

I  see  now  why  He  has  put  some  thorns  into  my 
domestic  life  ;  but  for  them  I  should  be  too  happy 
to  live.  It  does  not  seem  just  the  moment  to  com- 
plain, and  yet,  as  I  can  speak  to  no  one,  it  is  a  relief, 
a  great  relief,  to  write  about  my  trials.  During  my 
whole  sickness,  Martha  has  been  so  hard,  so  cold,  so 
unsympathizing  that  sometimes  it  has  seemed  as  if 
my  cup  of  trial  could  not  hold  another  drop.  She 
routed  me  out  of  bed  when  I  was  so  languid  that 


Stepping  Heavenward  t8i 

everything  seemed  a  burden,  and  when  sitting  up 
made  me  faint  away.  I  heard  her  say  to  herself,  that 
I  had  no  constitution  and  had  no  business  to  get 
married.  The  worst  of  all  is  that  during  that  dread- 
ful night  before  baby  came,  she  kept  asking  Ernest 
to  lie  down  and  rest,  and  was  sure  he  would  kill 
himself,  and  all  that,  while  she  had  not  one  word  of 
pity  for  me.  But,  oh,  why  need  I  let  this  rankle  in 
my  heart !  Why  cannot  I  turn  my  thoughts  entirely 
to  my  darling  baby,  my  dear  husband,  and  all  the 
other  sources  of  joy  that  make  my  home  a  happy 
one  in  spite  of  this  one  discomfort !  I  hope  I  am 
learning  some  useful  lessons  from  my  joys  and  from 
my  trials,  and  that  both  will  serve  to  make  me  in 
earnest,  and  to  keep  me  so. 

Dec.  4. — We  have  had  a  great  time  about  poor 
baby's  name.  I  expected  to  call  him  Raymond,  for 
my  own  dear  father,  as  a  matter  of  course.  It 
seemed  a  small  gratification  for  mother  in  her  lone- 
liness. Dear  mother  !  How  little  I  have  known  all 
these  years  what  I  cost  her  !  But  it  seems  there 
has  been  a  Jotham  in  the  family  ever  since  the 
memory  of  man,  each  eldest  son  handing  down  his 
father's  name  to  the  next  in  descent,  and  Ernest's 
real  name  is  Jotham  Ernest — of  all  the  extraordinary 
combinations  !  His  mother  would  add  the  latter 
name  in  spite  of  everything.  Ernest  behaved  very 
well  through  the  whole  affair,  and  said  he  had  no 
feeling  about  it  all.  But  he  was  so  gratified  when 
I  decided  to  keep  up  the  family  custom  that  I  feel 
rewarded  for  the  sacrifice. 


1 82  Stepping  Heavenward 

Father  is  in  one  of  his  gloomiest  moods.  As  I 
sat  caressing  baby  to-day  he  said  to  me  : 

"  Daughter  Katherine,  I  trust  you  make  it  a  sub- 
ject of  prayer  to  God  that  you  may  be  kept  from 
idolatry/' 

"  No,  father,"  I  returned,  "  I  never  do.  An  idol 
is  something  one  puts  in  God's  place,  and  I  don't 
put  baby  there." 

He  shook  his  head  and  said  the  heart  is  deceitful 
above  all  things,  and  desperately  wicked. 

"  I  have  heard  mother  say  that  we  might  love  an 
earthly  object  as  much  as  we  pleased,  if  we  only 
love  God  better."  I  might  have  added,  but  of 
course  I  didn't,  that  I  prayed  every  day  that  I 
might  love  Ernest  and  baby  better  and  better. 
Poor  father  seemed  puzzled  and  troubled  by  w^hat  I 
did  say,  and  after  musing  a  while,  went  on  thus  : 

"The  Almighty  is  a  great  and  terrible  Being. 
He  cannot  bear  a  rival ;  He  will  have  the  whole 
heart  or  none  of  it.  When  I  see  a  young  woman  so 
absorbed  in  a  created  being  as  you  are  in  that 
infant,  and  in  your  other  friends,  I  tremble  for  you, 
I  tremble  for  you  !  " 

"  But,  father,"  I  persisted,  "  God  gave  me  this 
child,  and  He  gave  me  my  heart,  just  as  it  is." 

"Yes  ;  and  that  heart  needs  renewing." 

"  I  hope  it  is  renewed,"  I  replied.  "  But  I  know 
there  is  a  great  work  still  to  be  -done  in  it.  And 
the  more  effectually  it  is  done  the  more  loving  I 
shall  grow.  Don't  you  see,  father?  Don't  yoii  see 
that  the  more  Christ-like  I  become  the  more  I  shall 
be  filled  with  love  for  every  living  thing  ? " 


Stepping  Heavenward  183 

He  shook  his  head,  but  pondered  long,  as  he 
always  does,  on  whatever  he  considers  audacious. 
As  for  me,  I  am  vexed  with  my  presumption  in  dis- 
puting with  him,  and  am  sure,  too,  that  I  was  trying 
to  show  olff  what  little  wisdom  I  have  picked  up. 
Besides,  my  mountain  does  not  stand  so  strong  as  it 
did.  Perhaps  I  am  making  idols  out  of  Ernest  and 
the  baby. 

January  16,  1839. — This  is  our  second  wedding- 
day.  I  did  not  expect  much  from  it,  after  last 
year's  failure.  Father  was  very  gloomy  at  break- 
fast, and  retired  to  his  room  directly  after  it.  No 
one  could  get  in  to  make  his  bed,  and  he  would  not 
come  down  to  dinner.  -I  wonder  Ernest  lets  him 
go  on  so.  But  his  rule  seems  to  be  to  let  everybody 
have  their  own  way.  He  certainly  lets  me  have 
mine.  After  dinner  he  gave  me  a  book  I  have  been 
wanting  for  some  time,  and  had  asked  him  for — 
"The  Imitation  of  Christ."  Ever  since  that  day  at 
Mrs.  Campbell's  I  have  felt  that  I  should  like  it, 
though  I  did  think,  in  old  times,  that  it  preached 
too  hard  a  doctrine.  I  read  aloud  to  him  the  "  Four 
Steps  to  Peace";  he  said  they  were  admirable,  and 
then  took  it  from  me  and  began  reading  to  himself, 
here  and  there.  I  felt  the  precious  moments  when 
I  had  got  him  all  to  myself  were  passing  away,  and 
was  becoming  quite  out  of  patience  with  him  when 
the  words  "  Constantly  seek  to  have  less,  rather 
than  more,"  flashed  into  my  mind*  I  suppose  this 
direction  had  reference  to  worldly  good,  but  I 
despise    money,    and    despise    people    who  love    it. 


184  Steppmg  Heavenward 

The  riches  I  crave  are  not  silver  and  gold,  but  my 
husband's  love  and  esteem.  And  of  these  must  I 
desire  to  have  less  rather  than  more?  I  puzzled 
myself  over  this  question  in  vain,  but  when  I 
silently  prayed  to  be  satisfied  with  just  what  God 
chose  to  give  me  of  the  wealth  I  crave,  yes,  hunger 
and  thirst  for,  I  certainly  felt  a  sweet  content,  for 
the  time,  at  least,  that  was  quite  resting  and  quiet- 
ing. And  just  as  I  had  reached  that  acquiescent 
mood  Ernest  threw  down  his  book,  and  came  and 
caught  me  in  his  arms. 

"  I  thank  God,"  he  said,  "  my  precious  wife,  that 
I  married  3^ou  this  day.  The  wisest  thing  I  ever 
did  was  when  I  fell  in  love  with  you  and  made  a 
fool  of  myself  !  " 

What  a  speech  for  my  silent  old  darling  to  make  ! 
Whenever  he  says  and  does  a  thing  out  of  character, 
and  takes  me  all  by  surprise,  how  delightful  he  is  ! 
Now  the  world  is  a  beautiful  world,  and  so  is  every- 
body in  it.  I  met  Martha  on  the  stairs  after  Ernest 
had  gone,  and  caught  her  and  kissed  her.  She 
looked  perfectly  astonished. 

"  What  spirits  the  child  has  !"  I  heard  her  whisper 
to  herself  ;  "  no  sooner  down  than  up  again.'* 

And  she  sighed.  Can  it  be  that  under  that  stern 
and  hard  crust  there  lie  hidden  affections  and  per- 
haps hidden  sorrows  ? 

I  ran  back  and  asked,  as  kindly  as  I  could,  "  What 
makes  you  sigh,  Martha?  Is  anything  troubling 
you  ?     Have  I  done  anything  to  annoy  you  ?" 

^'  You  do  the  best  you  can,"  she  said,  and  pushed 
past  me  to  her  own  room. 


XIV. 

Jan.  30. 

Who  would  have  thought  I  would  have  anything 
more  to  do  with  poor  old  Susan  Green  ?  Dr.  Cabot 
came  to  see  me  to-day,  and  told  me  the  strangest 
thing  '  It  seems  that  the  nurse  who  performed  the 
last  offices  for  her  was  taken  sick  about  six  months 
ago,  and  that  Dr.  Cabot  visited  her  from  time  to 
time.  Her  physician  said  she  needed  nothing  but 
rest  and  good,  nourishing  food  to  restore  her 
strength,  yet  she  did  not  improve  at  all,  and  at  last 
it  came  out  that  she  was  not  taking  the  food  the 
doctor  ordered,  because  she  could  not  afford  to  do 
so,  having  lost  what  little  money  she  had  contrived 
to  save.  Dr.  Cabot,  on  learning  this,  gave  her 
enough  out  of  Susan's  legacy  to  meet  her  case,  and 
in  doing  so  told  her  about  that  extraordinary  will. 
The  nurse  then  assured  him  that  when  she  reached 
Susan's  room  and  found  the  state  that  she  was  in, 
and  that  I  was  praying  with  her,  she  had  remained 
waiting  in  silence,  fearing  to  interrupt  me.  She  saw 
me  faint,  and  sprang  forward  just  in  time  to  catch 
me  and  keep  me  from  falling. 

*^  I  take  great  pleasure,  therefore,"  Dr.  Cabot  con- 
tinued, "in  making  over  Susan's  little  property  to 
you,  to  whom   it  belongs  ;  and  I  cannot  help  con- 

(185) 


1 86  Stepping  Heavenward 

gratulating  you  that  you  have  had  the  honor  and 
the  privilege  of  perhaps  leading  that  poor,  benighted 
soul  to  Christ,  even  at  the  eleventh  hour." 

"Oh,  Dr.  Cabot !"  I  cried,  "what  a  relief  it  is  to 
hear  you  say  that !  For  I  have  always  reproached 
myself  for  the  cowardice  that  made  me  afraid  to 
speak  to  her  of  her  Saviour.  It  takes  less  courage 
to  speak  to  God  than  to  man." 

"  It  is  my  belief,"  replied  Dr.  Cabot,  "  that  every 
prayer  offered  in  the  name  of  Jesus  is  sure  to  have 
its  answer.  Every  such  prayer  is  dictated  by  the 
Holy  Spirit,  and  therefore  finds  acceptance  with 
God  ;  and  if  your  cry  for  mercy  on  poor  Susan's 
soul  did  not  prevail  with  Him  in  her  behalf,  as  we 
may  hope  it  did,  then  He  has  answered  it  in  some 
other  way." 

These  words  impressed  me  very  much.  To  think 
that  every  one  of  my  poor  prayers  is  answered  ! 
Every  one  ! 

Dr.  Cabot  then  returned  to  the  subject  of  Susan's 
will,  and  in  spite  of  all  I  could  say  to  the  contrary, 
insisted  that  he  had  no  legal  right  to  this  money, 
and  that  I  had.  He  said  he  hoped  that  it  would  help 
to  relieve  us  from  some  of  the  petty  economies  now 
rendered  necessary  by  Ernest's  struggle  to  meet  his 
father's  liabilities.  Instantly  my  idol  was  rudely 
thrown  down  from  his  pedestal.  How  could  he  re- 
veal to  Dr.  Cabot  a  secret  he  had  pretended  it  cost 
him.  so  much  to  confide  to  me,  his  wife  ?  I  could 
hardly  restrain  tears  of  shame  and  vexation,  but  did 
control  myself  so  far  as  to  say  that  I  would  sooner 
die  than  appropriate  Susan's  hard  earnings  to  such 


Stepping  Heavenward  187 

a  purpose,  and  that  I  should  use  it  for  the  poor,  as  I 
was  sure  he  would  have  done.  He  then  advised  me 
to  invest  the  principal,  and  use  the  interest  from 
year  to  year,  as  occasions  presented  themselves.  So 
I  shall  have  more  than  a  hundred  dollars  to  give 
away  each  year,  as  long  as  I  live  !  How  perfectly 
delightful.  I  can  hardly  conceive  of  anything  that 
could  give  me  so  much  pleasure  !  Poor  old  Susan  ! 
How  many  hearts  she  shall  cause  to  sing  for  joy  ! 

Feb.  25. — Things  have  not  gone  on  well  of  late. 
Dearly  as  I  love  Ernest,  he  has  lowered  himself  in 
my  eye  by  telling  that  to  Dr.  Cabot.  It  would  have 
been  far  nobler  to  be  silent  concerning  his  sacrifices  ; 
and  he  certainly  grows  harder,  graver,  sterner  every 
day.  He  is  all  shut  up  within  himself,  and  I  am 
growing  afraid  of  him.  It  must  be  that  he  is  bit- 
terly disappointed  in  me,  and  takes  refuge  in  this 
awful  silence.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  please  him,  and 
could  know  that  I  pleased  him,  how  different  my  life 
would  be  ! 

Baby  does  not  seem  well.  I  have  often  plumed 
myself  on  the  thought  that  having  a  doctor  for  his 
father  would  be  such  an  advantage  to  him,  as  he 
would  be  ready  to  attack  the  first  symptoms  of  dis- 
ease. But  Ernest  hardly  listens  to  me  when  I  ex- 
press anxiety  about  this  or  that,  and  if  I  ask  a  ques- 
tion he  replies,  "Oh,  you  know  better  than  I  do. 
Mothers  know  by  instinct  how  to  manage  babies." 
But  I  do  not  know  by  instinct,  or  in  any  other  way, 
and  I  often  wish  that  the  time  I  spent  over  my  music 
had  been  spent  in  learning  how  to  meet  all  the  little 


1 88  Stepping  Heavenward 

emergencies  that  are  constantly  arising  since  baby 
came.  How  I  used  to  laugh  in  my  sleeve  at  those 
anxious  mothers  who  lived  near  us  and  always 
seemed  to  be  in  hot  water.  Martha  will  take  baby 
when  I  have  other  things  to  attend  to,  and  she  keeps 
him  every  Sunday  afternoon  that  I  may  go  to 
church,  but  she  knows  no  more  about  his  physical 
training  than  I  do.  If  my  dear  mother  were  only 
here  !  I  feel  a  good  deal  worn  out.  What  with  the 
care  of  baby,  who  is  restless  at  night,  and  with 
whom  I  walk  about  lest  he  should  keep  Ernest 
awake,  the  depressing  influence  of  father's  presence, 
Martha's  disdain,  and  Ernest  keeping  so  aloof  from 
me,  life  seems  to  me  little  better  than  a  burden  that 
I  have  not  strength  to  carry  and  would  gladly  lay 
down. 

March  3. — If  it  were  not  for  James  I  believe  I 
should  sink.  He  is  so  kind  and  affectionate,  so 
ready  to  fill  up  the  gaps  Ernest  leaves  empty,  and 
is  so  sunshiny  and  gay  that  I  cannot  be  entirely  sad. 
Baby,  too,  is  a  precious  treasure  ;  it  would  be  wicked 
to  cloud  his  little  life  with  my  depression.  I  try  to 
look  at  him  always  with  a  smiling  face,  for  he  al- 
ready distinguishes  between  a  cheerful  and  a  sad 
countenance. 

I  am  sure  that  there  is  something  in  Christ's  gos- 
pel that  would  soothe  and  sustain  me  amid  these 
varied  trials,  if  I  only  knew  what  it  is,  and  how  to 
put  forth  my  hand  and  take  it.  But  as  it  is  I  feel 
very  desolate.  Ernest  often  congratulates  me  on 
having  had  such  a  good  night's  rest,  when  I  have 


Stepping  Heavenward  189 

been  up  and  down  every  hour  with  baby,  half  asleep 
and  frozen  and  exhausted.  But  he  shall  sleep  at 
any  rate. 

April  5. — The  first  rays  of  spring  make  me  more 
languid  than  ever.  Martha  cannot  be  made  to  un- 
derstand that  nursing  such  a  large,  voracious  baby, 
losing  sleep,  and  confinement  within  doors,  are 
enough  to  account  for  this.  She  is  constantly  speak- 
ing in  terms  of  praise  of  those  who  keep  up  even 
when  they  do  feel  a  little  out  of  sorts,  and  says  she 
always  does.  In  the  evening,  after  baby  gets  to 
sleep,  I  feel  fit  for  nothing  but  to  lie  on  the  sofa, 
dozing  ;  but  she  sees  in  this  only  a  lazy  habit,  which 
ought  not  to  be  tolerated,  and  is  constantly  devising 
ways  to  rouse  and  set  me  at  work.  If  I  had  more 
leisure  for  reading,  meditation  and  prayer,  I  might 
still  be  happy.  But  all  the  morning  I  must  have 
baby  till  he  takes  his  nap,  and  as  soon  as  he  gets  to 
sleep  I  must  put  my  room  in  order,  and  by  that  time 
all  the  best  part  of  the  day  is  gone.  And  at  night 
I  am  so  tired  that  I  can  hardly  feel  anything  but  my 
weariness.  That,  too,  is  my  only  chance  of  seeing 
Ernest,  and  if  I  lock  my  door  and  fall  upon  my  knees, 
I  keep  listening  for  his  step,  ready  to  spring  to  wel- 
come him  should  he  come.  This  is  wrong,  I  know, 
but  how  can  I  live  without  one  loving  word  from 
him,  and  every  day  I  am  hoping  it  will  come. 

May  2. — Aunty  was  here  to-day.  I  had  not  seen 
her  for  some  weeks.     She  exclaimed  at  my  looks  in 


IQO  Stepping  Heavenward 

a  tone  that  seemed  to  upbraid  Ernest  and  Martha, 
though  of  course  she  did  not  mean  to  do  that. 

"  You  are  not  fit  to  have  the  whole  care  of  that 
great  boy  at  night,"  said  she,  "and  you  ought  to 
begin  to  feed  him,  both  for  his  sake  and  your  own." 

"  I  am  willing  to  take  the  child  at  night,"  Martha 
said,  a  little  stiffly.  "  But  I  supposed  his  mother 
preferred  to  keep  him  herself." 

"  And  so  I  do,"  I  cried.  "  I  should  be  perfectly 
miserable  if  I  had  to  give  him  up  just  as  he  is  get- 
ting teeth,  and  so  wakeful." 

"  W  hat  are  you  taking  to  keep  up  your  strength, 
dear  ?"  asked  Aunty. 

"  Nothing  in  particular,"  I  said. 

"  Very  well,  it  is  time  the  doctor  looked  after 
that,"  she  cried.  *^  It  really  never  will  do  to  let  you 
run  down  in  this  way.  Let  me  look  at  baby.  Why, 
my  child,  his  gums  need  lancing." 

"  So  I  have  told  Ernest  half  a  dozen  times,"  I  de- 
clared. "  But  he  is  always  in  a  hurry,  and  says  an- 
other time  will  do." 

*'  I  hope  baby  won't  have  convulsions  while  he  is 
waiting  for  that  other  time,"  said  Aunty,  looking 
almost  savagely  at  Martha.  I  never  saw  Aunty  so 
nearly  out  of  humor. 

At  dinner  Martha  began. 

"  I  think,  brother,  the  baby  needs  attention.  Mrs. 
Crofton  has  been  here  and  says  so.  And  she  seems 
to  find  Katherine  run  down.  I  am  sure  if  I  had 
known  it  I  should  have  taken  her  in  hand  and  built 
her  up.     But  she  did  not  complain." 

"  She  never  complains,"  father  here  put  in,  calling 


Stepping  Heavenward  191 

all  the  blood  I  had  into  my  face,  my  heart  so  leaped 
for  joy  at  his  kind  word. 

Ernest  looked  at  me  and  caught  the  illumination 
of  my  face. 

"  You  look  well,  dear,"  he  said.  "  But  if  you  do 
not  feel  so  you  ought  to  tell  us.  As  to  baby,  I  will 
attend  to  him  directly." 

So  Martha's  one  word  prevailed  where  my  twenty 
fell  to  the  ground. 

Baby  is  much  relieved,  and  has  fallen  into  a  sweet 
sleep.  And  I  have  had  time  to  carry  my  tired,  op- 
pressed heart  to  my  compassionate  Saviour,  and  to 
tell  Him  what  I  cannot  utter  to  any  human  ear. 
How  strange  it  is  that  when,  through  many  years  of 
leisure  and  strength,  prayer  was  only  a  task,  it  is 
now  my  chief  solace  if  I  can  only  snatch  time  for  it. 

Mrs.  Embury  has  a  little  daughter.  How  glad  I 
am  for  her  !  She  is  going  to  give  it  my  name  ! 
That  is  a  real  pleasure. 

July  4. — Baby  is  ten  months  old  to-day,  and  in 
spite  of  everything  is  bright  and  well.  I  have  come 
home  to  mother.  Ernest  waked  up  at  last  to  see 
that  something  must  be  done,  and  when  he  is  awake 
he  is  very  wide  awake.  So  he  brought  me  home. 
Dear  mother  is  perfectly  delighted,  only  she  will 
make  an  ado  about  my  health.  But  I  feel  a  good 
deal  better,  and  think  I  shall  get  nicely  rested  here. 
How  pleasant  it  is  to  feel  myself  watched  by  friendly 
eyes,  my  faults  excused  and  forgiven,  and  what  is 
best  in  me  called  out.  I  have  been  writing  to  Er- 
nest, and  have  told  him  honestly  how  annoyed  and 


192  Stepping  Heavenward 

pained  I  was  at  learning  that  he  had  told  his  secret 
to  Dr.  Cabot. 


July  12. — Ernest  writes  that  he  has  had  no  com- 
munication with  Dr.  Cabot  or  any  one  else  on  a 
subject  that,  touching  his  father's  honor  as  it  does, 
he  regards  as  a  sacred  one. 

"You  say,  dear,"  he  said,  "you  often  say,  that  I 
do  not  understand  you.  Are  you  sure  that  you  un- 
derstand me  ?" 

Of  course  I  don't.  How  can  I  ?  How  can  I 
reconcile  his  marrying  me  and  professing  to  do  it 
with  delight,  with  his  indifference  to  my  society,  his 
reserve,  his  carelessness  about  my  health  ? 

But  his  letters  are  very  kind,  and  really  warmer 
than  he  is.  I  can  hardly  wait  for  them,  and  then, 
though  my  pride  bids  me  to  be  reticent  as  he  is,  my 
heart  runs  away  with  me,  and  I  pour  out  upon  him 
such  floods  of  affection  that  I  am  sure  he  is  half 
drowned. 

Mother  says  baby  is  splendid. 

August  i. — When  I  took  leave  of  Ernest  I  was 
glad  to  get  away.  I  thought  he  would  perhaps  find 
after  I  was  gone  that  he  missed  something  out  of 
his  life  and  would  welcome  me  home  with  a  little  of 
the  old  love.  But  I  did  not  dream  that  he  would 
not  find  it  easy  to  do  without  me  till  summer  was 
over,  and  when,  this  morning,  he  came  suddenly 
upon  us,  carpet-bag  in  hand,  I  could  do  nothing  but 
cry  in  his  arms  like  a  tired  child. 


"Mother  says  baby  is  splendid." 


Stepping  Heavenward  193 

And  now  I  had  the  silly  triumph  of  having  mother 
see  that  he  loved  me  ! 

"  How  could  you  get  away  ? "  I  asked  at  last. 
"  And  what  made  you  come  ?  And  how  long  can 
you  stay  ?  '* 

"  I  could  get  away  because  I  would^''  he  replied. 
^*  And  I  came  because  I  wanted  to  come.  And  I  can 
stay  three  days." 

Three  days  of  Ernest  all  to  myself ! 

August  5. — He  has  gone,  but  he  has  left  behind 
him  a  happy  wife  and  the  memory  of  three  happy 
days. 

After  the  first  joy  of  our  meeting  was  over,  we 
had  time  for  just  such  nice  long  talks  as  I  delight 
in.  Ernest  began  by  upbraiding  me  a  little  for  my 
injustice  in  fancying  he  had  betrayed  his  father  to 
Dr.  Cabot. 

**That  is  not  all,"  I  interrupted,  "I  even  thought 
you  had  made  a  boast  of  the  sacrifices  you  were 
making." 

"That  explains  your  coldness."  he  returned. 

"My  coldness!  Of  all  the  ridiculous  things  in 
the  world  !  "  I  cried. 

"  You  were  cold,  for  you  and  I  felt  it.  Don't  you 
know  that  we  undemonstrative  men  prefer  loving 
winsome  little  women  like  you,  just  because  you  are 
our  own  opposites  ?  And  when  the  pet  kitten  turns 
into  a  cat  with  claws —  " 

"  Now,  Ernest,  that  is  really  too  bad  !  To  com- 
pare me  to  a  cat !  ** 


194  Steppmg  Heavenward 

"  You  certainly  did  say  some  sharp  things  to  me 
about  that  time." 

"  Did  I,  really  ?     Oh,  Ernest,  how  could  I  ?  " 

"And  it  was  at  a  moment  when  I  particularly 
needed  your  help.  But  do  not  let  us  dwell  upon  it. 
We  love  each  other  ;  we  are  both  trying  to  do  right 
in  all  the  details  of  life.  I  do  not  think  we  shall 
ever  get  very  far  apart. 

"  But,  Ernest^ — tell  me — are  you  very,  very  much 
disappointed  in  me?" 

*^  Disappointed  ?     Why,  Katy  !  " 

"  Then  what  did  make  you  seem  so  indifferent  ? 
What  made  you  so  slow  to  observe  how  miserably 
I  was,  as  to  health  ? " 

*^  Did  I  seem  indifferent  ?  I  am  sure  I  never  loved 
you  better.  As  to  your  health,  I  am  ashamed  of 
myself.  I  ought  to  have  seen  how  feeble  you  were. 
But  the  truth  is,  I  was  deceived  by  your  bright 
ways  with  baby.  For  him  you  were  all  smiles  and 
gayety." 

''That  was  from  principle,"  I  said,  and  felt  a  good 
deal  elated  as  I  made  the  announcement. 

He  fell  into  a  fit  of  musing,  and  none  of  my  usual 
devices  for  arousing  him  had  any  effect.  I  pulled 
his  hair  and  his  ears,  and  shook  him,  but  he  re- 
mained unmoved. 

At  last  he  began  again. 

*'  Perhaps  T  owe  it  to  you,  dear,  to  tell  you  that 
when  I  brought  my  father  and  sister  home  to  live 
with  us,  I  did  not  dream  how  trying  a  thing  it 
would  be  to  you.  I. did  not  know  that  he  was  a  con- 
firmed invalid,  or  that  she  would  prove  to  possess  a 


Stepping  Heavenward  195 

nature  so  entirely  antagonistic  to  yours.  I  thought 
my  father  would  interest  himself  in  reading,  visit- 
ing, etc.,  as  he  used  to  do.  And  I  thought  Martha's 
judgment  would  be  of  service  to  you,  while  her 
household  skill  would  relieve  you  of  some  care. 
But  the  whole  thing  has  proved  a  failure.  I  am  har- 
assed by  the  sight  of  my  father,  sitting  there  in  his 
corner  so  penetrated  with  gloom  ;  I  reproach  myself 
for  it,  but  I  almost  dread  coming  home.  When  a 
man  has  been  all  day  encompassed  with  sounds  and 
sights  of  suffering,  he  naturally  longs  for  cheerful 
faces  and  cheerful  voices  in  his  own  house.  Then 
Martha's  pertinacious — I  won't  say  hostility  to  my 
little  wife — what  shall  I  call  it  ? " 

"  It  is  only  want  of  sympathy.  She  is  too  really 
good  to  be  hostile  to  any  one." 

"  Thank  you,  my  darling,"  he  said,  "  I  believe  you 
do  her  justice." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  not  been  as  forbearing  with 
her  as  I  ought,"  I  said.  "  But,  oh,  Ernest,  it  is  be- 
cause I  have  been  jealous  of  her  all  along  ! " 

"  That  is  really  too  absurd." 

"  You  certainly  have  treated  her  with  more  defer- 
ence than  )^ou  have  me.  You  looked  up  to  her  and 
looked  down  upon  me.     At  least  it  seemed  so." 

**  My  dear  child,  you  have  misunderstood  the 
whole  thing.  I  gave  Martha  just  what  she  wanted 
most ;  she  likes  to  be  looked  up  to.  And  I  gave 
you  what  I  thought  you  wanted  most — my  tenderest 
love.  And  I  expected  that  I  should  have  your  sym- 
pathy amid  the  trials  with  which  I  am  burdened, 
and   that  with  your  strong  nature  I  might  look  to 


196  Stepping  Heavenward 

you  to  help  me  bear  them.  I  know  you  have  the 
worst  of  it,  dear  child,  but  then  you  have  twice  my 
strength.  I  believe  women  almost  always  have 
more  than  men." 

**  I  have,  indeed,  misunderstood  you.  I  thought 
you  liked  to  have  them  here,  and  that  Martha's  not 
fancying  me  influenced  you  against  me.  But  now  I 
know  just  what  you  want  of  me,  and  I  can  give  it, 
darling." 

After  this  all  our  cloud  melted  away.  I  only  long 
to  go  home  and  show  Ernest  that  he  shall  have  one 
cheerful  face  about  him,  and  have  one  cheerful  voice. 

August  12. — I  have  had  a  long  letter  from  Ernest 
to-day.  He  says  he  hopes  he  has  not  been  selfish 
and  unkind  in  speaking  of  his  father  and  sister  as 
he  has  done,  because  he  truly  loves  and  honors  them 
both,  and  wants  me  to  do  so,  if  I  can.  His  father 
had  called  them  up  twice  to  see  him  die  and  to  re- 
ceive his  last  messages.  This  always  happens  when 
poor  Ernest  has  been  up  all  the  previous  night  ; 
there  seems  a  fatality  about  it. 


XV. 

October  4. 
Home  again,  and  with  my  dear  Ernest  delighted 
to  see  me.  Baby  is  a  year  old  to-day,  and,  as  usual, 
father,  who  seems  to  abhor  anything  like  a  merry- 
making, took  himself  off  to  his  room.  To-morrow 
he  will  be  all  the  worse  for  it,  and  will  be  sure  to 
have  a  theological  battle  with  somebody. 

October  5. — The  somebody  was  his  daughter 
Katherine,  as  usual.  Baby  was  asleep  in  my  lap 
and  I  reached  out  for  a  book  which  proved  to  be  a 
volume  of  Shakespeare  which  had  done  long  service 
as  an  ornament  to  the  table,  but  which  nobody  ever 
read  on  account  of  the  small  print.  The  battle 
then  began  thus  : 

Father. — "  I  regret  to  see  that  worldly  author  in 
your  hands,  my  daughter." 

Daughter — a  little  mischievously. — "  Why,  were 
you  wanting  to  talk,  father  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  too  feeble  to  talk  to-day.  My  pulse  is 
very  weak." 

*^  Let  me  read  aloud  to  you,  then." 

"  Not  from  that  profane  book." 

"It  would  do  you  good.  You  never  take  any 
recreation.     Do  let  me  read  a  little." 

(197) 


igS  Stepping  Heavenward 

Father  gets  nervous. 

"  Recreation  is  a  snare.  I  must  keep  my  soul  ever 
fixed  on  divine  things." 

"  But  can  you  ?" 

''  No,  alas,  no.  It  is  my  grief  and  shame  that  I 
do  not." 

"  But  if  you  would  indulge  yourself  in  a  little 
harmless  mirth  now  and  then,  your  mind  would  get 
rested  and  you  would  return  to  divine  things  with 
fresh  zeal.  Why  should  not  the  mind  have  its  sea- 
sons of  rest  as  well  as  the  body  ?" 

"  We  shall  have  time  to  rest  in  heaven.  Our  busi- 
ness here  on  earth  is  to  be  sober  and  vigilant  be- 
cause of  our  adversary  ;  not  to  be  reading  plays." 

^'  I  don't  make  reading  plays  my  business,  dear 
father.     I  make  it  my  rest  and  amusement." 

"  Christians  do  not  need  amusement  ;  they  find 
rest,  refreshment,  all  they  want,  in  God." 

"  Do  you,  father  ?  " 

"  Alas,  no.     He  seems  a  great  way  off." 

"To  me  He  seems  very  near.  So  near  that  He 
can  see  every  thought  of  my  heart.  Dear  father,  it 
is  your  disease  that  makes  everything  so  unreal  to 
you.  God  is  really  so  near,  really  loves  us  so  ;  is  so 
sorry  for  us  !  And  it  seems  hard,  when  you  are  so 
good,  and  so  intent  on  pleasing  Him,  that  you  get 
no  comfort  out  of  Him." 

*^  I  am  not  good,  my  daughter.  I  am  a  vile  worm 
of  the  dust." 

"  Well,  God  is  good,  at  any  rate,  and  He  would 
never  have  sent  His  Son  to  die  for  you  if  He  did 
not  love  you."     So  then   I  began   to  sing.     Father 


Stepping  Heavenward  199 

likes  to  hear  me  sing,  and  the  sweet  sense  I  had  that 
all  I  had  been  saying  was  true  and  more  than  true, 
made  me  sing  with  joyful  heart. 

I  hope  it  is  not  a  mere  miserable  presumption 
that  makes  me  dare  to  talk  so  to  poor  father.  Of 
course,  he  is  ten  times  better  than  I  am,  and  knows 
ten  times  as  much,  but  his  disease,  whatever  it  is, 
keeps  his  mind  befogged.  I  mean  to  begin  now  to 
pray  that  light  may  shine  into  his  soul.  It  would 
be  delightful  to  see  the  peace  of  God  shining  in 
that  pale,  stern  face  ! 

March  28. —It  is  almost  six  months  since  I  wrote 
that.  About  the  middle  of  October  father  had  one 
of  his  ill  turns  one  night,  and  we  were  all  called  up. 
He  asked  for  me  particularly,  and  Ernest  came  for 
me  at  last.  I  was  a  good  deal  agitated,  and  would 
not  stop  to  half  dress  myself,  and  as  I  had  a  slight 
cold  already,  I  suppose  I  added  to  it  then.  At  any 
rate  I  was  taken  very  sick,  and  the  worst  cough  I 
ever  had  has  racked  my  poor  frame  almost  to  pieces. 
Nearly  six  months  confinement  to  my  room  ;  six 
months  of  uselessness  during  which  I  have  been  a 
mere  cumberer  of  the  ground.  Poor  Ernest !  What 
a  hard  time  he  has  had  !  Instead  of  the  cheerful 
welcome  home  I  was  to  give  him  whenever  he  en- 
tered the  house,  here  I  have  lain  exhausted,  woe- 
begone and  good  for  nothing.  It  is  the  bitterest 
disappointment  I  ever  had.  My  ambition  is  to  be 
the  sweetest,  brightest,  best  of  wives  ;  and  what 
with  my  childish  follies,  and  my  sickness,  what  a 
weary  life  my  dear  husband    has  had  !      But  how 


200  Stepping  Heavenward 

often  I  have  prayed  that  God  would  do  His  will 
in  defiance,  if  need  be,  of  mine  !  I  have  tried  to 
remind  myself  of  that  every  day.  But  I  am  too 
tired  to  write  any  more  now. 

March  30. — This  experience  of  suffering  has  filled 
my  mind  with  new  thoughts.  At  one  time  I  was  so 
sick  that  Ernest  sent  for  mother.  Poor  mother,  she 
had  to  sleep  with  Martha.  It  was  a  great  comfort 
to  have  her  here,  but  I  knew  by  her  coming  how 
sick  I  was,  and  then  I  began  to  ponder  the  question 
whether  I  was  ready  to  die.  Death  looked  to  me 
as  a  most  solemn,  momentous  event — but  there  was 
something  very  pleasant  in  the  thought  of  being  no 
longer  a  sinner,  but  a  redeemed  saint,  and  of  dwell- 
ing forever  in  Christ's  presence.  Father  came  to 
see  me  when  I  had  just  reached  this  point. 

'^  My  dear  daughter,"  he  asked,  "  are  you  prepared 
to  face  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  ?  '* 

**  No,  dear  father,"  I  said,  "  Christ  will  do  that  for 
me." 

"  Have  you  no  misgivings  ? " 

I  could  only  smile  ;  I  had  no  strength  to  talk. 

Then  I  heard  Ernest — my  dear,  calm,  self-con- 
trolled Ernest — burst  out  crying  and  rush  out  of  the 
room.  I  looked  after  him,  and  how  I  loved  him  ! 
But  I  felt  that  I  loved  my  Saviour  infinitely  more, 
and  that  if  He  now  let  me  come  home  to  be  with 
Him  I  could  trust  Him  to  be  a  thousand-fold  more 
to  Ernest  than  I  could  ever  be,  and  to  take  care  of 
my  darling  baby  and  my  precious  mother  far  better 
than  I  could.     The  very  gates  of  heaven  seemed 


Stepping  Heavenward  201 

open  to  let  me  in.  And  then  they  were  suddenly 
shut  in  my  face,  and  I  found  myself  a  poor,  weak, 
tempted  creature  here  upon  earth.  I,  who  fancied 
myself  an  heir  of  glory,  was  nothing  but  a  peevish, 
human  creature — very  human  indeed,  overcome  if 
Martha  shook  the  bed,  as  she  always  did,  irritated 
if  my  food  did  not  come  at  the  right  moment,  or 
was  not  of  the  right  sort,  hurt  and  offended  if  Er- 
nest put  on  at  one  less  anxious  and  tender  than  he 
had  used  when  I  was  very  ill,  and  in  short,  my  own 
poor  faulty  self  once  more.  Oh,  what  fearful  bat- 
tles I  fought  for  patience,  forbearance  and  unselfish- 
ness !  What  sorrowful  tears  of  shame  I  shed  over 
hasty,  impatient  words  and  fretful  tones  !  No  won- 
der I  longed  to  be  gone  where  weakness  should  be 
swallowed  up  in  strength,  and  sin  give  place  to 
eternal  perfection  ! 

But  here  I  am,  and  suffering  and  work  lie  before 
me,  for  which  I  feel  little  physical  or  mental  cour- 
age.    But  "  blessed  be  the  will  of  God." 

April  5. — I  was  alone  with  father  last  evening, 
Ernest  and  Martha  both  being  out,  and  soon  saw 
by  the  way  he  fidgeted  in  his  chair  that  he  had 
something  on  his  mind.  So  I  laid  down  the  book 
I  was  reading,  and  asked  him  what  it  was. 

*'  My  daughter,"  he  began,  "  can  you  bear  a  plain 
word  from  an  old  man  ?  " 

I  felt  frightened,  for  I  knew  I  had  been  impatient 
to  Martha  of  late,  in  spite  of  all  my  efforts  to  the 
contrary.     I  am  still  so  miserably  unwell. 

*'  I    have    seen    many    death-beds,"  he  went    on ; 


202  Stepping  Heavenward 

"but  I  never  saw  one  where  there  was  not  some 
dread  of  the  King  of  Terrors  exhibited  ;  nor  one 
where  there  was  such  absolute  certainty  of  having 
found  favor  with  God  as  to  make  the  hour  of 
departure  entirely  free  from  such  doubts  and  such 
humility  as  becomes  a  guilty  sinner  about  to  face 
his  Judge.'' 

"I  never  saw  such  a  one,  either,"  I  replied  ;  "but 
there  have  been  many  such  deaths,  and  I  hardly 
know  of  any  scene  that  so  honors  and  magnifies  the 
Lord." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  slowly;  "but  they  were  old, 
mature,  ripened  Christians." 

"  Not  always  old,  dear  father.  Let  me  describe 
to  you  a  scene  Ernest  described  to  me  only  yester- 
day." 

He  waved  his  hand  in  token  that  this  would 
delay  his  coming  to  the  point  he  was  aiming  at. 

"To  speak  plainly,"  he  s^id,  "I  feel  uneasy  about 
you,  my  daughter.  You  are  young  and  in  the 
bloom  of  life,  but  when  death  seemed  staring  you 
in  the  face,  you  expressed  no  anxiety,  asked  for  no 
counsel,  showed  no  alarm.  It  must  be  pleasant  to 
possess  so  comfortable  a  persuasion  of  our  accept- 
ance with  God  ;  but  is  it  safe  to  rest  on  such  an 
assurance  while  we  know  that  the  human  heart  is 
deceitful  above  all  things  and  desperately  wicked  ? " 

"I  thank  you  for  the  suggestion,"  I  said  ;  "and, 
dear  father,  do  not  be  afraid  to  speak  still  more 
plainly.  You  live  in  the  house  with  me,  see  all  my 
shortcomings  and  my  faults,  and  I  cannot  wonder 
that  you  think  me  a  poor,  weak  Christian.     But  do 


Stepping  Heavemvard  203 

you  really  fear  that  I  am  deceived  in  believing  that 
notwithstanding  this  I  do  really  love  my  God  and 
Saviour  and  am  His  Child  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  hesitating  a  little,  "  I  can't  say 
that,  exactly — I  can't  say  that." 

This  hesitation  distressed  me.  At  first  it  seemed 
to  me  that  my  life  must  have  uttered  a  very  uncer- 
tain sound  if  those  who  saw  it  could  misunderstand 
its  language.  But  then  I  reflected  that  it  was,  at 
best,  a  very  faulty  life,  and  that  its  springs  of  action 
were  not  necessarily  seen  by  lookers-on. 

Father  saw  my  distress  and  perplexity,  and 
seemed  touched  by  them. 

Just  then  Ernest  came  in  with  Martha,  but  seeing 
that  something  was  amiss,  the  latter  took  herself 
off  to  her  room,  which  I  thought  really  kind  of  her. 

"  What  is  it,  father  ?  What  is  it,  Katy  ?  "  asked 
Ernest,  looking  from  one  troubled  face  to  the  other. 

I  tried  to  explain. 

"  I  think,  father,  you  may  safely  trust  my  wife's 
spiritual  interests  to  me,"  Ernest  said,  with  some 
warmth.  "  You  do  not  understand  her.  I  do. 
Because  there  is  nothing  morbid  about  her,  because 
she  has  a  sweet,  cheerful  confidence  in  Christ,  you 
doubt  and  misjudge  her.  You  may  depend  upon  it 
that  people  are  individual  in  their  piety  as  in  other 
things,  and  cannot  all  be  run  in  one  mould.  Katy 
has  a  playful  way  of  speaking,  I  know,  and  often 
expresses  her  strongest  feelings  with  what  seems 
like  levity,  and  is,  perhaps,  a  little  reckless  about 
being  misunderstood  in  consequence." 

He  smiled  on  me,  as  he  thus  took  up  the  cudgels 


204  Stepping  Heavenward 

in  my  defence,  and  I  never  felt  so  grateful  to  him 
in  my  life.  The  truth  is,  I  hat^  sentimentalism  so 
cordially,  and  have  besides  such  an  instinct  to  con- 
ceal my  deepest,  most  sacred  emotions,  that  I  do 
not  wonder  people  misunderstand  and  misjudge  me. 

"  I  did  not  refer  to  her  playfulness,"  father 
returned.  "Old  people  must  make  allowances  for 
the  young ;  they  must  make  allowances.  What 
pains  me  is  that  this  child,  full  of  life  and  gayety  as 
she  is,  sees  death  approach  without  that  becoming 
awe  and  terror  which  befits  mortal  man." 

Ernest  was  going  to  reply,  but  I  broke  in  eagerly 
upon  his  answer  : 

"  It  is  true  that  I  expressed  no  anxiety  when  I 
believed  death  to  be  at  hand.  I  felt  none.  I  had 
given  myself  away  to  Christ,  and  He  had  received 
me,  and  why  should  I  be  afraid  to  take  His  hand 
and  go  where  He  led  me  ?  And  it  is  true  that  I 
asked  for  no  counsel.  I  was  too  weak  to  ask  ques- 
tions or  to  like  to  have  questions  asked  ;  but  my 
mind  was  bright  and  wide  awake  while  my  body 
was  so  feeble,  and  I  took  counsel  of  God.  Oh,  let 
me  read  to  you  two  passages  from  the  life  of  Caro- 
line Fry  which  will  make  you  understand  how  a 
poor  sinner  looks  upon  death.  The  first  is  an 
extract  from  a  letter  written  after  learning  that  her 
days  on  earth  were  numbered. 

"  ^  As  many  will  hear  and  will  not  understand,  why 
I  want  no  time  of  preparation,  often  desired  by  far 
holier  ones  than  I,  I  tell  you  why,  and  shall  tell 
others,  and  so  shall  you.  It  is  not  because  I  am  so 
holy,   but   because    I    am    so   sinful.     The  peculiar 


Stepping  Heavenward  205 

character  of  my  religious  experience  has  always 
been  a  deep,  an  agonizing  sense  of  sin  ;  the  sin  of 
yesterday,  of  to-day,  confessed  with  anguish  hard 
to  be  endured,  and  cried  for  pardon  that  could  not 
be  unheard  ;  each  day  cleansed  anew  in  Jesus' 
blood,  and  each  day  more  and  more  hateful  in  my 
own  sight ;  what  can  I  do  in  death  I  have  not  done 
in  life  ?  What  do  in  this  week,  when  I  am  told  I 
cannot  live,  other  than  I  did  last  week,  when  I 
knew  it  not  ?  Alas,  there  is  but  one  thing  undone, 
to  serve  Him  better  ;  and  the  death-bed  is  no  place 
for  that.  Therefore  I  say,  if  I  am  not  ready  now,  I 
shall  not  be  by  delay,  so  far  as  I  have  to  do  with  it. 
If  He  has  more  to  do  in  me  that  is  His  part.  I  need 
not  ask  Him  not  to  spoil  His  work  by  too  much 
haste.* 

"  And  these  are  her  dying  words,  a  few  days  later  : 
"  *  This  is  my  bridal-day,  the  beginning  of  my  life. 
I  wish  there  should  be  no  mistake  about  the  reason 
of  my  desire  to  depart  and  to  be  with  Christ.  I 
confess  myself  the  vilest,  chiefest  of  sinners,  and  I 
desire  to  go  to  Him  that  I  may  be  rid  of  the  burden 
of  sin — the  sin  of  my  nature — not  the  past,  repented 
of  every  day,  but  the  present,  hourly,  momentary 
sin,  which  I  do  commit,  or  may  commit — the  sense  of 
which  at  times  drives  me  half  mad  with  grief  /  '  " 

I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  of  father's  face, 
as  I  finished  reading  these  remarkable  words.  He 
rose  slowly  from  his  seat,  and  came  and  kissed  me 
on  the  forehead.  Then  he  left  the  room,  but  re- 
turned with  a  large  volume,  and  pointing  to  a  blank 
page,  requested  me  to  copy  them  there.     He  com- 


2o6  Stepping  Heavenward 

plains  that  I  do  not  write  legibly,  so  I  printed  them 
as  plainly  as  I  could,  with  my  pen. 


June  20. — On  the  first  of  May,  there  came  to  us, 
with  other  spring  flowers,  our  little  fair-haired,  blue- 
eyed  daughter.  How  rich  I  felt  when  I  heard 
Ernest's  voice,  as  he  replied  to  a  question  asked  at 
the  door,  proclaim,  "  Mother  and  children  all  well." 
To  think  that  we,  who  thought  ourselves  rich  be- 
fore, are  made  so  much  richer  now  ! 

But  she  is  not  large  and  vigorous,  as  little  Ernest 
was,  and  we  cannot  rejoice  in  her  without  some 
misgiving.  Yet  her  very  frailty  makes  her  precious 
to  us.  Little  Ernest  hangs  over  her  with  an  almost 
lover-like  pride  and  devotion,  and  should  she  live 
I  can  imagine  what  a  protector  he  will  be  for  her. 
I  have  had  to  give  up  the  care  of  him  to  Martha. 
During  my  illness  I  do  not  know  what  would  have 
become  of  him  but  for  her.  One  of  the  pleasant 
events  of  every  day  at  that  time,  was  her  bringing 
him  to  me  in  such  exquisite  order,  his  face  shining 
with  health  and  happiness,  his  hair  and  dress  so 
beautifully  neat  and  clean.  Now  that  she  has  the 
care  of  him,  she  has  become  very  fond  of  him,  and 
he  certainly  forms  one  bond  of  union  between  us, 
for  we  both  agree  that  he  is  the  handsomest,  best, 
most  remarkable  child  that  ever  lived,  or  ever  will 
live. 

July  6. — I  have  come  home  to  dear  mother  with 
both  my  children.     Ernest  says  our  only  hope  for 


Stepping  Heavenward  207 

baby  is  to  keep  her  out  of  the  city  during  the  sum- 
mer months. 

What  d.  petite  wee  maiden  she  is  !  Where  does  all 
the  love  come  from  ?  If  I  had  had  her  always  I  do 
not  see  how  I  could  be  more  fond  of  her.  And  do 
people  call  it  living  who  never  had  any  children  ? 

July  10. — If  this  darling  baby  lives,  I  shall  always 
believe  it  is  owing  to  my  mother's  prayers. 

I  find  little  Ernest  has  a  passionate  temper,  and  a 
good  deal  of  self-will.  But  he  has  fine  qualities.  I 
wish  he  had  a  better  mother.  I  am  so  impatient 
with  him  when  he  is  wayward  and  perverse  !  What 
he  needs  is  a  firm,  gentle  hand,  moved  by  no  caprice, 
and  controlled  by  the  constant  fear  of  God.  He 
never  ought  to  hear  an  irritable  word,  or  a  sharp 
tone  ;  but  he  does  hear  them,  I  must  own  with  grief 
and  shame.  The  truth  is,  it  is  so  long  since  I  really 
felt  strong  and  well  that  I  am  not  myself,  and  can- 
not do  him  justice,  poor  child.  Next  to  being  a 
perfect  wife  I  want  to  be  a  perfect  mother.  How 
mortifying,  how  dreadful  in  all  things  to  come  short 
of  even  one's  own  standard  !  What  approach,  then, 
does  one  make  to  God's  standard  ? 

Mother  seems  very  happy  to  have  us  here,  though 
we  make  so  much  trouble.  She  encourages  me  in 
all  my  attempts  to  control  myself  and  to  control  my 
dear  little  boy,  and  the  chapters  she  gives  me  out  of 
her  own  experience  are  as  interesting  as  a  novel, 
and  a  good  deal  more  instructive. 

August. — Dear  Ernest  has  come  to  spend  a  week 


2o8  Stepping  Heavenward 

with  us.  He  is  all  tired  out,  as  there  has  been  a 
great  deal  of  sickness  in  the  city,  and  father  has 
had  quite  a  serious  attack.  He  brought  with  him  a 
nurse  for  baby,  as  one  more  desperate  effort  to 
strengthen  her  constitution. 

I  reproached  him  for  doing  it  without  consulting 
me,  but  he  said  mother  had  written  to  tell  him  that 
I  was  all  worn  out  and  not  in  a  state  to  have  the 
care  of  the  children.  It  has  been  a  terrible  blow  to 
me.  One  by  one  I  am  giving  up  the  sweetest  ma- 
ternal duties.  God  means  that  I  shall  be  nothing 
and  do  nothing  ;  a  mere  useless  sufferer.  But  when 
I  tell  Ernest  so,  he  says  I  am  everything  to  him, 
and  that  God's  children  please  him  just  as  well 
when  they  sit  patiently  with  folded  hands,  if  that  is 
His  will,  as  when  they  are  hard  at  work.  But  to 
be  at  work,  to  be  useful,  to  be  necessary  to  my  hus- 
band and  children,  is  just  what  I  want,  and  I  do 
find  it  hard  to  be  set  against  the  wall,  as  it  were, 
like  an  old  piece  of  furniture  no  longer  of  any  serv- 
ice. I  see  now  that  my  first  desire  has  not  been 
to  please  God,  but  to  please  myself,  for  I  am  rest- 
less under  His  restraining  hand,  and  find  my  prison 
a  very  narrow  one.  I  would  be  willing  to  bear  any 
other  trial,  if  I  could  only  have  health  and  strength 
for  my  beloved  ones.  I  pray  for  patience  with  bit- 
ter tears. 


XVI. 

October. 

We  are  all  at  home  together  once  more.  The 
parting  with  mother  was  very  painful.  Every  year 
that  she  lives  now  increases  her  loneliness,  and 
makes  me  long  to  give  her  the  shelter  of  my  home. 
But  in  the  midst  of  these  anxieties,  how  much  I  have 
to  make  me  happy  !  Little  Ernest  is  the  life  and 
soul  of  the  house  ;  the  sound  of  his  feet  pattering 
about,  and  all  his  prattle,  are  the  sweetest  music  to 
my  ear ;  and  his  heart  is  brimful  of  love  and  joy,  so 
that  he  shines  on  us  all  like  a  sunbeam.  Baby  is 
improving  every  day,  and  is  one  of  those  tender, 
clinging  little  things  that  appeal  to  everybody's  love 
and  sympathy.  I  never  saw  a  more  angelic  face  than 
hers.  Father  sits  by  the  hour  looking  at  her.  To- 
day he  said  : 

"  Daughter  Katherine,  this  lovely  little  one  is  not 
meant  for  this  sinful  world/' 

"  This  world  needs  to  be  adorned  with  lovely  lit- 
tle ones,"  I  said.  "And  baby  was  never  so  well  as 
she  is  now." 

"Do  not  set  your  heart  too  fondly  upon  her,"  he 
returned.     "  I  feel  that  she  is  far  too  dear  to  me." 

"But,  father,  we  could  give  her  to  God  if  He 
should  ask  for  her.  Surely,  we  love  Him  better 
than  we  love  her." 

(209) 


2IO  Stepping  Heavenwara 

But  as  I  spoke  a  sharp  pang  shot  through  and 
through  my  soul,  and  I  held  my  little  fair  daughter 
closely  in  my  arms,  as  if  I  could  always  keep  her 
there.  It  may  be  my  conceit,  but  it  really  does 
seem  as  if  poor  father  was  getting  a  little  fond  of 
me.  Ever  since  my  own  sickness  I  have  felt  great 
sympathy  for  him,  and  he  feels,  no  doubt,  that  I 
give  him  something  that  neither  Ernest  nor  Martha 
can  do,  since  they  were  never  sick  one  day  in  their 
lives.  I  do  wish  he  could  look  more  at  Christ  and 
at  what  He  has  done  and  is  doing  for  us.  The  way 
of  salvation  is  to  me  a  wide  path,  absolutely  radiant 
with  the  glory  of  Him  who  shines  upon  it ;  I  see  my 
shortcomings  ;  I  see  my  sins,  but  I  feel  myself 
bathed,  as  it  were,  in  the  effulgent  glow  that  pro- 
ceeds directly  from  the  throne  of  God  and  the  Lamb. 
It  seems  as  if  I  ought  to  have  some  misgivings  about 
my  salvation,  but  I  can  hardly  say  that  I  have  one. 
How  strange,  how  mysterious  that  is  !  And  here  is 
father,  so  much  older,  so  much  better  than  I  am, 
creeping  along  in  the  dark  !  I  spoke  to  Ernest 
about  it.  He  says  I  owe  it  to  my  training,  in  a  great 
measure,  and  that  my  mother  is  fifty  years  in  ad- 
vance of  her  age.  But  it  can't  be  all  that.  It  was 
only  after  years  of  struggle  and  prayer  that  God 
gave  me  this  joy. 

November  24. — Ernest  asked  me  yesterday  if  I 
knew  that  Amelia  and  her  husband  had  come  here 
to  live,  and  that  she  was  very  ill. 

"  I  wish  you  would  go  to  see  her,  dear,"  he  added. 
*'  She  is  a  stranger  here,  and  in  great  need  of  a 


Stepping  Heavenward  2 1 1 

friend."  I  felt  extremely  disturbed.  I  have  lost  my 
old  affection  for  her,  and  the  idea  of  meeting  her 
husband  was  unpleasant. 

"  Is  she  very  sick  ?"  I  asked. 

*^  Yes.  She  is  completely  broken  down.  I  prom- 
ised her  that  you  should  go  to  see  her." 

"Are  you  attending  her?" 

"Yes  ;  her  husband  came  for  me  himself." 

"I  don't  want  to  go,"  I  said.  "  It  will  be  very  dis- 
agreeable." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  know  it.  But  she  needs  a  friend,  as 
I  said  before." 

I  put  on  my  things  very  reluctantly,  and  went.  I 
found  Amelia  in  a  richly-furnished  house,  but  look- 
ing untidy  and  ill-cared-for.  She  was  lying  on  a 
couch  in  her  bedroom  ;  three  delicate-looking  chil- 
dren were  playing  about,  and  their  nurse  sat  sewing 
at  the  window. 

A  terrible  fit  of  coughing  made  it  impossible  for 
her  to  speak  for  some  moments.  At  last  she  recov- 
ered herself  sufficiently  to  welcome  me,  by  throw- 
ing her  arms  around  me  and  bursting  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  Katy  !  "  she  crie  J,  "  should  you  have  known 
me  if  we  had  met  in  the  street  ?  Don't  you  find 
me  sadly  altered  ? " 

"You  are  changed,"  I  said,  "but  so  am  I." 

"  Yes,  you  do  not  look  strong.  But  then  you  never 
did.  And  you  are  as  pretty  as  ever,  while  I — oh, 
Kate  !  do  you  remember  what  round,  white  arms  I 
used  to  have  ?     Look  at  them  now  !  " 

And  she  drew  up  her  sleeve,  poor  child.    Just  then 


212  Stepping  Heavenward 

I  heard  a  step  in  the  passage,  and  her  husband  saun- 
tered into  the  room,  smoking. 

**  Do  go  away,  Charles,"  she  said  impatiently. 
"  You  know  how  your  cigar  sets  me  coughing." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  me  with  the  easy,  non- 
chalant air  of  one  who  is  accustomed  to  success  and 
popularity. 

I  looked  at  him  with  an  aversion  I  could  not  con- 
ceal. The  few  years  since  we  met  has  changed  him 
so  completely  that  I  almost  shuddered  at  the  sight 
of  his  already  bloated  face,  and  at  the  air  that  told 
of  a  life  worse  than  wasted. 

"Do  go  away,  Charles,"  Amelia  repeated. 

He  threw  himself  into  a  chair  without  paying  the 
least  attention  to  her,  and  still  addressing  himself 
to  me  again,  said  : 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  are  prettier  than  ever, 
and—" 

^^  I  will  come  to  see  you  at  another  time,  Amelia," 
I  said,  putting  on  all  the  dignity  I  could  condense 
in  my  small  frame,  and  rising  to  take  leave. 

"  Don't  go,  Katy  !  "  he  cried,  starting  up,  "  don't 
go.     I  want  to  have  a  good  talk  about  old  times. 

Katy^  indeed!  How  dared  he?  I  came  away 
burning  with  anger  and  mortification.  Is  it  possible 
that  I  ever  loved  such  a  man  ?  That  to  gratify  that 
love  I  defied  and  grieved  my  dear  mother  through 
a  whole  year  !  Oh,  from  what  hopeless  misery  God 
saved  me,  when  He  snatched  me  out  of  the  depth 
of  my  folly  ! 

December  i. — Ernest  says  I  can  go  to  see  Amelia 


'*I  found  Amelia  more  unwell  than  on  my  first  visit,  and  she 
received  me  again  with  tears." 


Stepping  Heavenward  213 

with  safety  now,  as  her  husband  has  sprained  his 
ankle,  and  keeps  to  his  own  room.  So  I  am  going. 
But,  I  am  sure  I  shall  say  something  imprudent  or 
unwise,  and  wish  I  could  think  it  right  to  stay  away. 
I  hope  God  will  go  with  me  and  teach  me  what 
words  to  speak. 

Dec.  2. — I  found  Amelia  more  unwell  than  on  my 
first  visit,  and  she  received  me  again  with  tears. 

"  How  good  you  are  to  come  so  soon,"  she  began. 
"  I  did  not  blame  you  for  running  off  the  other  day  ; 
Charley's  impertinence  was  shameful.  He  said,  after 
you  left,  that  he  perceived  you  had  not  yet  lost  your 
quickness  to  take  offence,  but  I  know  he  felt  that 
you  showed  a  just  displeasure,  and  nothing  more." 

"  No,  I  was  really  angry,"  I  replied.  "  I  find  the 
road  to  perfection  lies  up-hill,  and  I  slip  back  so 
often  that  sometimes  I  despair  of  ever  reaching  the 
top." 

"  What  does  the  doctor  say  about  me  ? "  she  asked. 
*'  Does  he  think  me  very  sick  ? " 

'*  I  dare  say  he  will  tell  you  exactly  what  he 
thinks,"  I  returned,  "if  you  ask  him.  This  is  his 
rule  with  all  his  patients." 

"  If  I  could  get  rid  of  this  cough  I  should  soon  be 
myself  again,"  she  said.  "  Some  days  I  feel  quite 
bright  and  well.  But  if  it  were  not  for  my  poor 
little  children,  I  should  not  care  much  how  the  thing 
ended.  With  the  life  Charley  leads  me,  I  haven't 
much  to  look  forward  to." 

"You  forget  that  the  children's  nurse  is  in  the 
room,"  I  whispered. 


2  14  Stepping  Heavenward 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  Charlotte.  Charlotte  knows 
how  he  neglects  me,  don't  you,  Charlotte  ? " 

Charlotte  was  discreet  enough  to  pretend  not  to 
hear  this  question,  and  Amelia  went  on  : 

"  It  began  very  soon  after  we  were  married.  He 
would  go  round  with  other  girls  exactly  as  he  did 
before  ;  then  when  I  spoke  about  it  he  would  just 
laugh  in  his  easy,  good-natured  way,  but  pay  no  at- 
tention to  my  wishes.  Then  when  I  grew  more  in 
earnest  he  would  say,  that  as  long  as  he  let  me  alone 
I  ought  to  let  him  alone.  I  thought  that  when  our 
first  baby  came  that  would  sober  him  a  little,  but 
he  wanted  a  boy  and  it  turned  out  to  be  a  girl. 
And  my  being  unhappy  and  crying  so  much,  made 
the  poor  thing  fretful  ;  it  kept  him  awake  at  night, 
so  he  took  another  room.  After  that  I  saw  him  less 
than  ever,  though  now  and  then  he  would  have  a 
little  love-fit,  when  he  would  promise  to  be  at  home 
more  and  treat  me  with  more  consideration.  We 
had  two  more  little  girls — twins  ;  and  then  a  boy. 
Charley  seemed  quite  fond  of  him,  and  did  certainly 
seem  improved,  though  he  was  still  out  a  great  deal 
with  a  set  of  idle  young  men,  smoking,  drinking 
wine,  and  I  don't  know  what  else.  His  uncle  gave 
him  too  much  money,  and  he  had  nothing  to  do  but 
to  spend  it." 

"  You  must  not  tell  me  any  more  now,"  I  said. 
**  Wait  till  you  are  stronger." 

The  nurse  rose  and  gave  her  something  which 
seemed  to  refresh  her.  I  went  to  look  at  the  little 
girls,  who  were  all  pretty,  pale-faced  creatures,  very 
quiet  and  mature  in  their  ways. 


Stepping  Heavenward  215 

"  I  am  rested  now,"  said  Amelia,  "  and  it  does  me 
good  to  talk  to  you,  because  I  can  see  that  you  are 
sorry  for  me." 

^*  I  am,  indeed  !"  I  cried. 

*'  When  our  little  boy  was  three  months  old  I  took 
this  terrible  cold  and  began  to  cough.  Charley  at 
first  remonstrated  with  me  for  coughing  so  much  ; 
he  said  it  was  a  habit  I  had  got,  and  that  I  ought  to 
cure  myself  of  it.  Then  the  baby  began  to  pine 
and  pine,  and  the  more  it  wasted  the  more  I  wasted. 
And  at  last  it  died." 

Here  the  poor  child  burst  out  again,  and  I  wiped 
away  her  tears  as  fast  as  they  fell,  thankful  that  she 
could  cry. 

"  After  that,"  she  went  on,  after  awhile,  "  Charley 
seemed  to  lose  his  last  particle  of  affection  for  me  ; 
he  kept  away  more  than  ever,  and  once  when  I  be- 
sought him  not  to  neglect  me  and  my  children  so, 
he  said  he  was  well  paid  for  not  keeping  up  his  en- 
gagement with  you,  that  you  had  some  strength  of 
character,  and — " 

"  Amelia,"  I  interrupted,  **  do  not  repeat  such 
things.     They  only  pain  and  mortify  me." 

"  Well,"  she  sighed,  wearily,  "  this  is  what  he  has 
at  last  brought  me  to.  I  am  sick  and  broken-hearted, 
and  care  very  little  what  becomes  of  me." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  I  wanted  to  ask  her  if, 
when  earthly  refuge  failed  her,  she  could  not  find 
shelter  in  the  love  of  Christ.  But  I  have  what  is,  I 
fear,  a  morbid  terror  of  seeking  the  confidence  of 
others.  I  knelt  down  at  last,  and  kissed  the  poor 
faded  face. 


2i6  Stepping  Heave^tward 

"  Ves,  I  knew  you  would  feel  for  me,"  she  said. 
**  The  only  pleasant  thought  I  had  when  Charley 
insisted  on  coming  here  to  live  was,  that  I  should 
see  you." 

"  Does  your  uncle  live  here,  too  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  he  came  first,  and  it  was  that  that  put  it 
into  Charley's  head  to  come.  He  is  very  kind  to 
me." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  and  God  is  kind,  too,  isn't  He  ?" 

"  Kind  to  let  me  get  sick  and  disgust  Charley  ? 
Now,  Katy,  how  can  you  talk  so?"  I  replied  by  re- 
peating two  lines  from  a  hymn  of  which  I  am  very 
fond  : 

'*  *  O  Saviour,  whose  mercy  severe  in  its  kindness, 

Hath  chastened  my  wanderings,  and  guided  my  way.* " 

"  I  don't  much  care  for  hymns,"  she  said.  "  When 
one  is  well,  and  everything  goes  quite  to  one's  mind, 
it  is  nice  to  go  to  church  and  sing  with  the  rest  of 
them.  But,  sick  as  I  am,  it  isn't  so  easy  to  be  re- 
ligious." 

"  But  isn't  this  the  very  time  to  look  to  Christ  for 
comfort  ?" 

"  What's  the  use  of  looking  anywhere  for  com- 
fort ?"  she  said,  peevishly.  "Wait  till  you  are  sick 
and  heart-broken  yourself,  and  you'll  see  that  you 
won't  feel  much  like  doing  anything  but  just  groan 
and  cry  your  life  out." 

"  I  have  been  sick,  and  I  know  what  sorrow 
means,"  I  said.     "  And  I  am  glad  that  I  do.     For  I 


Stepping  Heavenward  2 1 7 

have  learned  Christ  in  that  school,  and  I  know  that 
He  can  comfort  when  no  one  else  can." 

"  You  always  were  an  odd  creature,"  she  replied. 
"I  never  pretended  to  understand  half  you  said." 

I  saw  that  she  was  tired,  and  came  away.  Oh, 
how  I  wished  that  I  had  been  able  to  make  Christ 
look  to  her  as  He  did  to  me  all  the  way  home. 

Dec.  24. — Father  says  he  does  not  like  Dr.  Cabot's 
preaching.  He  thinks  that  it  is  not  doctrinal 
enough,  and  that  he  does  not  preach  enough  to  sin- 
ners. But  I  can  see  that  it  has  influenced  him  al- 
ready, and  that  he  is  beginning  to  think  of  God,  as 
manifested  in  Christ,  far  more  than  he  used  to  do. 
With  me  he  has  endless*  discussions  on  his  and  my 
favorite  subjects,  and  though  I  can  never  tell  along 
what  path  I  walked  to  reach  a  certain  conclusion, 
the  earnestness  of  my  convictions  does  impress  him 
strangely.  I  am  sure  there  is  a  great  deal  of  conceit 
mixed  up  with  all  I  say,  and  then  when  I  compare 
my  life  with  my  own  standard  of  duty,  I  wonder  I 
ever  dare  to  open  my  mouth  and  undertake  to  help 
others. 

Baby  is  not  at  all  well.  To  see  a  little  frail,  ten- 
der thing  really  suffering,  tears  my  soul  to  pieces. 
I  think  it  would  distress  me  less  to  give  her  to  God 
just  as  she  is  now,  a  vital  part  of  my  very  heart,  than 
to  see  her  live  a  mere  invalid  life.  But  I  try  to  feel, 
as  I  know  I  say.  Thy  will  be  done  !  Little  Ernest  is 
the  very  picture  of  health  and  beauty.  He  has  vi- 
tality enough  for  two  children.  He  and  his  little 
sister  will  make  very  interesting  contrasts  as  they 


2 1 8  Stepping  Heavenward 

grow  older.     His  ardor  and  vivacity  will   rouse  her, 
and  her  gentleness  will  soften  him. 

Jan.  I,  184 1. — Every  day  brings  its  own  duty  and 
its  own  discipline.  How  is  it  that  I  make  such  slow 
progress  while  this  is  the  case  ?  It  is  a  marvel  to 
me  why  God  allov/s  characters  like  mine  to  defile 
His  church.  I  can  only  account  for  it  with  the 
thought  that  if  I  ever  am  perfected,  I  shall  be  a 
great  honor  to  His  name,  for  surely  worse  material 
for  building  up  a  temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost  was 
never  gathered  together  before.  The  time  may 
come  when  those  who  know  me  now,  crude,  childish, 
incomplete,  will  look  upon  me  with  amazement,  say- 
ing, **  What  hath  God  wrought  !'*  If  I  knew  such  a 
time  would  never  come,  I  should  want  to  flee  into 
the  holes  and  caves  of  the  earth. 

I  have  everything  to  inspire  me  to  devotion.  My 
dear  mother's  influence  is  always  upon  me.  To  her 
I  owe  the  habit  of  flying  to  God  in  ever}^  emergency, 
and  of  believing  in  prayer.  Then  I  am  in  close  fellow- 
ship with  a  true  man  and  a  true  Christian.  Ernest 
has  none  of  my  fluctuations  ;  he  is  always  calm  and 
self-possessed.  This  is  partly  his  natural  character  ; 
but  he  has  studied  the  Bible  more  than  any  other 
book,  his  convictions  of  duty  are  fixed  because  they 
are  drawn  thence,  and  his  constant  contact  with  the 
sick  and  the  suffering  has  revealed  life  to  him  just  as 
it  is.  How  he  has  helped  me  on  !  God  bless  him 
for  it  ! 

Then  I  have  James.  To  be  with  him  one  half 
hoiir  is  an  inspiration.     He  lives  in  such  blessed 


Stepping  Heavenward  219 

communion  with  Christ  that  he  is  in  perpetual  sun- 
shine, and  his  happiness  fertilizes  even  this  disor- 
dered household  ;  there  is  not  a  soul  in  it  that  does 
not  catch  somewhat  of  his  joyousness. 

And  there  are  my  children  !  My  darling,  precious 
children  !  For  their  sakes  I  am  continually  con- 
strained to  seek  after  an  amended,  a  sanctified  life  ; 
what  I  want  them  to  become  I  must  become  myself. 

So  I  enter  on  a  new  year,  not  knowing  what  it 
will  bring  forth,  but  surely  with  a  thousand  reasons 
for  thanksgiving,  for  joy,  and  for  hope. 

Jan.  t6. — One  more  desperate  effort  to  make  har- 
mony out  of  the  discords  of  my  house,  and  one  more 
failure.  Ernest  forgot  that  it  was  our  wedding-day, 
which  mortified  and  pained  me,  especially  as  he  had 
made  an  engagement  to  dine  out.  I  am  always  ex- 
pecting something  from  life  that  I  never  get.  Is  it 
so  with  everybody?  I  am  very  uneasy,  too,  about 
James.  He  seems  to  be  growing  fond  of  Lucy's 
society.  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  she  could  not 
make  him  happy.  Is  it  possible  that  he  does  not 
know  what  a  brilliant  young  man  he  is,  and  that  he 
can  have  whom  he  pleases  ?  It  is  easy,  in  theory,  to 
let  God  plan  our  owji  destiny,  and  that  of  our 
friends.  But  when  it  comes  to  a  specific  case,  we 
fancy  we  can  help  His  judgments  with  our  poor  rea- 
son. Well,  I  must  go  to  Him  with  this  new  anxiety, 
and  trust  my  darling  brother's  future  to  Him,  if  I 
can. 

I  shall  trv  to  win  James'  confidence.     If  it  is  not 


-V^ 


2  20  Stepping  Heavenward 

Lucy,   who  or  what    is    it  that    is    making  him  so 
thoughtful  and  serious,  yet  so  wondrously  happy  ? 

Jan.  17. — I  have  been  trying  to  find  out  whether 
this  is  a  mere  notion  of  mine  about  Lucy.  James 
laughs,  and  evades  my  questions.  But  he  owns  that 
a  very  serious  matter  is  occupying  his  thoughts,  of 
which  he  does  not  wish  to  speak  at  present.  May 
God  bless  him  in  it,  whatever  it  is. 

May  I. — My  delicate  little  Una's  first  birthday. 
Thank  God  for  sparing  her  to  us  a  year.  If  He 
should  take  her  away  I  should  still  rejoice  that  this 
life  was  mingled  with  ours,  and  has  influenced  them. 
Yes,  even  an  unconscious  infant  is  an  ever-felt  in- 
fluence in  the  household  ;  what  an  amazing  thought ! 

I  have  given  this  precious  little  one  away  to  her 
Saviour  and  to  mine  ;  living  or  dying,  she  is  His. 

Dec.  13. — Writing  journals  does  not  seem  to  be 
my  mission  on  earth  of  late.  My  busy  hands  find 
so  much  else  to  do  !  And  sometimes  when  I  have 
been  particularly  exasperated  and  tried  by  the  jar- 
ring elements  that  form  my  home,  I  have  not  dared 
to  indulge  myself  with  recording  things  that  ought 
to  be  forgotten. 

How  I  long  to  live  in  peace  with  all  men,  and  how 
I  resent  interference  in  the  management  of  my  chil- 
dren !  If  the  time  ever  comes  that  I  live,  a  spinster 
of  a  certain  age,  in  the  family  of  an  elder  brother, 
what  a  model  of  forbearance,  charity,  and  sisterly 
loving-kindness  I  shall  be  ! 


XVII. 

January  i,  1842. 

I  MEAN  to  resume  my  journal,  and  be  more  faith- 
ful to  it  this  year.  How  many  precious  things,  said 
by  dear  Mrs.  Campbell  and  others,  are  lost  forever, 
because  I  did  not  record  them  at  the  time  ! 

I  have  seen  her  to-day.  At  Ernest's  suggestion  I 
have  let  Susan  Green  provide  her  with  a  comfort- 
able chair,  which  enables  her  to  sit  up  during  a  part 
of  each  day.  I  found  her  in  it,  full  of  gratitude, 
her  sweet,  tranquil  face  shining,  as  it  always  is, 
with  a  light  reflected  from  heaven  itself.  She  looks 
like  one  who  has  had  her  struggle  with  life  and 
conquered  it.  During  last  year  I  visited  her  often, 
and  gradually  learned  much  of  her  past  history, 
though  she  does  not  love  to  talk  of  herself.  She 
has  outlived  her  husband,  a  houseful  of  girls  and 
boys,  and  her  ill-health  is  chiefly  the  result  of  years 
of  watching  by  their  sick-beds,  and  grief  at  their 
loss. 

For  she  does  not  pretend  not  to  grieve,  but  al- 
ways says,  "  It  is  repining  that  dishonors  God,  not 
grief." 

I  said  to  her  to-day  : 

"Doesn't  it  seem  hard  when  you  think  of  the 
many  happy  homes  there  are  in  the  world,  that  you 

(221) 


<^; 


22  2  Stepping  Heavenward 

should  be  singled  out  for  such  bereavement  and 
loneliness  ?" 

She  replied,  with  a  smile  : 

"I  am  not  singled  out,  dear.  There  are  thou- 
sands of  God's  own  dear  children,  scattered  over 
the  world,  suffering  far  more  than  I  do.  And  I  do 
not  think  there  are  manj^  persons  in  it  who  are  hap- 
pier than  I  am.  I  was  bound  to  my  God  and 
Saviour  before  I  knew  a  sorrow,  it  is  true.  But  it 
was  by  a  chain  of  many  links  ;  and  every  link  that 
dropped  away,  brought  me  to  Him,  till  at  last,  hav- 
ing nothing  left,  I  was  shut  up  to  Him,  and  learned 
fully,  what  I  had  only  learned  partially,  how  soul- 
satisfying  He  is." 

'^  You  think,  then,"  I  said,  while  my  heart  died 
within  me,  **that  husband  and  children  are  obsta- 
cles in  our  way,  and  hinder  our  getting  near  to 
Christ." 

'*  Oh,  no  !  "  she  cried.  "  God  never  gives  us  hin- 
drances. On  the  contrary.  He  means,  in  making  us 
wives  and  mothers,  to  put  us  into  the  very  condi- 
tions of  holy  living.  But  if  we  abuse  His  gifts  by 
letting  them  take  His  place  in  our  hearts,  it  is  an 
act  of  love  on  His  part  to  take  them  away,  or  to 
destroy  our  pleasure  in  them.  It  is  delightful,"  she 
added,  after  a  pause,  "to  know  that  there  are  some 
generous  souls  on  earth,  who  love  their  dear  ones 
with  all  their  hearts,  yet  give  those  hearts  unreserv- 
edly to  Christ.     Mine  was  not  one  of  them." 

I  had  some  little  service  to  render  her  which  inter- 
rupted our  conversation.  The  offices  I  have  had 
to  have  rendered  me  in  my  own  long  days  of  sick- 


Stepping  Heavenward  223 

ness  have  taught  me  to  be  less  fastidious  about 
waiting  upon  others.  I  am  thankful  that  God  has 
at  last  made  me  willing  to  do  anything  in  a  sick- 
room that  must  be  done.  She  thanked  me,  as  she 
always  does,  and  then  I  said  : 

"  I  have  a  great  many  little  trials,  but  they  don't 
do  me  a  bit  of  good.  Or,  at  least,  I  don't  see  that 
they  do." 

"  No,  we  never  see  plants  growing,"  she  said. 

'*  And  do  you  really  think  then,  that  perhaps  I  am 
growing,  though  unconsciously  ?" 

"  I  know  you  are,  dear  child.  There  can't  be  life 
without  growth." 

Tills  comforted  me.  I  came  home,  praying  all 
the  way,  and  striving  to  commit  myself  entirely  to 
Him  in  whose  school  I  sit  as  learner.  Oh,  that  I 
were  a  better  scholar  I  But  I  do  not  half  learn  my 
lessons,  I  am  heedless  and  inattentive,  and  I  forget 
what  is  taught.  Perhaps  this  is  the  reason  that 
weighty  truths  float  before  my  mind's  eye  at  times, 
but  do  not  ^y^  themselves  there. 

March  20. — I  have  been  much  impressed  by  Dr. 
Cabot's  sermons  to-day.  While  I  am  listening  to 
his  voice  and  hear  him  speak  of  the  beauty  and 
desirableness  of  the  Christian  life,  I  feel  as  he  feels, 
that  I  am  willing  to  count  all  things  but  dross  that 
I  may  win  Christ.  But  when  I  come  home  to  my 
worldly  cares,  I  get  completely  absorbed  in  them, 
and  it  is  only  by  a  painful  wrench  that  I  force  my 
soul  back  to  God.  Sometimes  I  almost  envy  Lucy 
her  calm  nature,  which  gives  her  so  little  trouble. 


224  Stepping  Heavenward 

Wny  need  I  throw  my  whole  soul  into  whatever  I 
do  ?  Why  can't  I  make  so  much  as  an  apron  for 
little  Ernest  without  the  ardor  and  eagerness  of  a 
soldier  marching  to  battle  ?  I  wonder  if  people  of 
my  temperament  ever  get  toned  down,  and  learn  to 
take  life  coolly  ? 


June  io. — My  dear  little  Una  has  had  a  long  and 
very  severe  illness.  It  seems  wonderful  that  she 
could  survive  such  sufferings.  And  it  is  almost  as 
wonderful  that  I  could  look  upon  them,  week  after 
week,  without  losing  my  senses. 

At  first  Ernest  paid  little  attention  to  my  repeated 
entreaties  that  he  would  prescribe  for  her,  and  some 
precious  time  was  thus  lost.  But  the  moment  he 
was  fully  aroused  to  see  her  danger,  there  was  some- 
thing beautiful  in  his  devotion.  He  often  walked 
the  room  with  her  by  the  hour  together,  and  it  was 
touching  to  see  her  lying  like  a  pale,  crushed  lily  in 
his  strong  arms.  One  morning  she  seemed  almost 
gone,  and  we  knelt  around  her  with  bursting  hearts, 
to  commend  her  parting  soul  to  Him  in  whose  arms 
we  were  about  to  place  her.  But  it  seemed  as  if  all 
He  asked  of  us  was  to  come  to  that  point,  for  then 
He  gave  her  back  to  us,  and  she  is  still  ours,  only 
seven-fold  dearer.  I  was  so  thankful  to  see  dear 
Ernest's  faith  triumphing  over  his  heart,  and  mak- 
ing him  so  ready  to  give  up  even  this  little  lamb 
without  a  word.  Yes,  we  will  give  our  children  to 
Him  if  he  asks  for  them.  He  shall  never  have  to 
snatch  them  from  us  by  force. 


Stepping  Heavenward  225 

Oct.  4.— We  have  had  a  quiet  sumrrfer  in  the 
country,  that  is,  I  have  with  my  darling  little  ones. 
This  is  the  fourth  birthday  of  our  son  and  heir,  and 
he  has  been  full  of  health  and  vivacity,  enjoying 
everything  with  all  his  heart.  How  he  lights  up 
our  sombre  household  !  Father  has  been  fasting  to- 
day, and  is  so  worn  out  and  so  nervous  in  conse- 
quence, that  he  could  not  bear  the  sound  of  the 
children's  voices.  I  wish,  if  he  must  fast,  he  would 
do  it  moderately,  and  do  it  all  the  time.  Now  he 
goes  without  food  until  he  is  ready  to  sink,  and  now 
he  eats  quantities  of  improper  food.  If  Martha 
could  only  see  how  mischievous  all  this  is  for  him. 
After  the  children  had  been  hustled  out  of  the  way, 
and  I  had  got  them  both  off  to  bed,  he  said  in  his 
most  doleful  manner,  "  I  hope,  my  daughter,  that 
you  are  faithful  to  your  son.  He  has  now  reached 
the  age  of  four  years,  and  is  a  remarkably  intelligent 
child.  I  hope  you  teach  him  that  he  is  a  sinner,  and 
that  he  is  in  a  state  of  condemnation.'* 

"  Now,  father,  don't,"  I  said.  *^  You  are  all  tired 
out,  and  do  not  know  what  you  are  saying.  I  would 
not  have  little  Ernest  hear  you  for  the  world." 

Poor  father  !     He  fairly  groaned. 

"  You  are  responsible  for  that  child's  soul,"  he 
said  ;  '^  you  have  more  influence  over  him  than  all 
the  world  beside." 

"I  know  it,"  I  said,  "and  sometimes  I  feel  ready 
to  sink  when  I  think  of  the  great  work  God  has  in- 
trusted to  me.  But  my  poor  child  will  learn  that  he 
is  a  sinner  only  too  soon,  and  before  that  dreadful 
day  arrives  I  want  to  fortify  his  soul  with  the  only 


2  26  Stepping  Heavenward 

antidote  against  the  misery  that  knowledge  will  give 
him.  I  want  him  to  see  his  Redeemer  in  all  His 
love,  and  all  His  beauty,  and  to  love  Him  with  all 
his  heart  and  soul,  and  mind  and  strength.  Dear 
father,  pray  for  him,  and  pray  for  me,  too." 

"  I  do,  I  will,"  he  said,  solemnly.  And  then  fol- 
lowed the  inevitable  long  fit  of  silent  musing,  when 
I  often  wonder  what  is  passing  in  that  suffering  soul. 
For  a  sufferer  he  certainly  is  who  sees  a  great  and 
good  and  terrible  God  who  cannot  look  upon  ini- 
quity, and  does  not  see  His  risen  Son,  who  has  paid 
the  debt  we  owe,  and  lives  to  intercede  for  us  before 
the  throne  of  the  Father. 

Jan.  I,  1842. — ^James  came  to  me  yesterday  with  a 
letter  he  had  been  writing  to  mother. 

"  I  want  you  to  read  this  before  it  goes,"  he  said, 
**  for  you  ought  to  know  my  plans  as  soon  as  mother 
does." 

I  did  not  get  time  to  read  it  till  after  tea.  Then 
I  came  up  here  to  my  room,  and  sat  down  curious 
to  know  what  was  coming. 

Well,  I  thought  I  loved  him  as  much  as  one  hu- 
man being  could  love  another,  already,  but  now  my 
heart  embraced  him  with  a  fervor  and  delight  that 
made  me  so  happy  that  I  could  not  speak  a  word 
when  I  knelt  down  to  tell  my  Saviour  all  about  it. 

He  said  that  he  had  been  led,  within  a  few 
months,  to  make  a  new  consecration  of  himself  to 
Christ  and  to  Christ's  cause  on  earth,  and  that  this 
had  resulted  in  his  choosing  the  life  of  a  missionary, 
instead  of  settling  down,  as  he  had  intended  to  do, 


Stepping  Heavenward  227 

as  a  city  physician.  Such  expressions  of  personal 
love  to  Christ,  and  delight  in  the  thought  of  serv- 
ing Him,  I  never  read.  I  could  only  marvel  at  what 
God  had  wrought  in  his  soul.  For  me  to  live  to 
Christ  seems  natural  enough,  for  I  have  been  driven 
to  Him  not  only  by  sorrow  but  by  sin.  Every  out- 
break of  my  hasty  temper  sends  me  weeping  and 
penitent  to  the  foot  of  the  cross,  and  I  love  much 
because  I  have  been  forgiven  much.  But  James,  as 
far  as  I  know,  has  never  had  a  sorrow,  except  my 
father's  death,  and  that  had  no  apparent  religious 
effect.  And  his  natural  character  is  perfectly  beau- 
tiful. He  is  as  warm-hearted  and  loving  and  simple 
and  guileless  as  a  child,  and  has  nothing  of  my  in- 
temperance, hastiness  and  quick  temper.  I  have 
often  thought  that  she  would  be  a  rare  woman  who 
could  win  and  wear  such  a  heart  as  his.  Life  has 
done  little  but  smile  upon  him  ;  he  is  handsome  and 
talented  and  attractive  ;  everybody  is  fascinated  by 
him,  everybody  caresses  him  ;  and  yet  he  has  turned 
his  back  on  the  world  that  has  dealt  so  kindly  w4th 
him,  and  given  himself,  as  Edwards  says,  "clean 
away  to  Christ  I  "  Oh,  how  thankful  I  am  1  And 
yet  to  let  him  go  !  My  only  brother — mother's  only 
son  !  But  I  know  what  she  will  say  ;  she  will  bid 
him  God-speed  ! 

Ernest  came  upstairs,  looking  tired  and  jaded.  I 
read  the  letter  to  him.  It  impressed  him  strangely  ; 
but  he  only  said  : 

"This  is  what  we  might  expect,  who  knew  James, 
dear  fellow  !  " 

But  when  we  knelt  down  to  pray  together,  I  saw 


228  Stepping  Heavenward 

how  he  was  touched,  and  how  his  soul  kindled 
within  him  in  harmony  with  that  consecrated,  de- 
voted spirit.  Dear  James !  it  must  be  mother's 
prayers  that  have  done  for  him  this  wondrous  work 
that  is  usually  the  slow  growth  of  years  ;  and  this 
is  the  mother  who  prays  for  you,  Katy  !  So  take 
courage  ! 

Jan.  2. — Jame^  means  to  study  theology  as  well  as 
medicine,  it  seems.  That  will  keep  him  with  us  for 
some  years.  Oh>  is  it  selfish  to  take  this  view  of  it  ? 
Alas,  the  spirit  is  willing  to  have  him  go,  but  the 
flesh  is  weak,  and  cries  out. 

Oct.  22.— Amelia  came  to  see  me  to-day.  She 
has  been  traveling,  for  her  health,  and  certainly 
looks  much  improved. 

"  Charley  and  I  are  quite  good  friends  again,"  she 
began.  *^  We  have  jaunted  about  everywhere,  and 
have  a  delightful  time.  What  a  snug  little  box  of  a 
house  you  have  !  " 

"It  is  inconveniently  small,"  I  said,  "for  our 
family  is  large,  and  the  doctor  needs  more  office 
room." 

"  Does  he  receive  patients  here  ?  How  horrid  ! 
Don't  you  hate  to  have  people  with  all  sorts  of  ills 
and  aches  in  the  house  ?  It  must  depress  your 
spirits." 

"I  dare  say  it  would  if  I  saw  them  ;  but  I  never 
do." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  your  children.  Your  hus- 
band says  you  are  perfectly  devoted  to  them." 


Stepping  Heavenward  229 

"As  I  suppose  all  mothers  are,"  I  replied,  laugh- 
ing. 

"  As  to  that,"  she  returned,  "  people  differ." 

The  children  were  brought  down.  She  admired 
little  Ernest,  as  everybody  does,  but  only  glanced 
at  the  baby. 

"What  a  sickly-looking  little  thing!"  she  said. 
"  But  this  boy  is  a  splendid  fellow !  Ah,  if  mine 
had  lived  he  would  have  been  just  such  a  child  ! 
But  some  people  have  all  the  trouble  and  others  all 
the  comfort.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  I  have 
done  that  I  should  have  to  lose  my  only  boy,  and 
have  nothing  left  but  girls.  To  be  sure,  I  can  afford 
to  dress  them  eleganth^,  and  as  soon  as  they  get  old 
enough  I  mean  to  have  them  taught  all  sorts  of 
accomplishments.  You  can't  imagme  what  a  relief 
it  is  to  have  plenty  of  money  I  " 

*^  Indeed  I  can't !  "  I  said  ;  "  it  is  quite  beyond 
the  reach  of  my  imagination." 

**  My  uncle — that  is  to  say  Charley's  uncle — has 
just  given  me  a  carriage  and  horses  for  my  own 
use.  In  fact,  he  heaps  everything  upon  me.  Where 
do  you  go  to  church  ? " 

I  told  her,  reminding  her  that  Dr.  Cabot  was  its 
pastor. 

"  Oh,  I  forgot !  Poor  Dr.  Cabot !  Is  he  as  old- 
fashioned  as  ever  ? " 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  I  cried.  "He  is 
as  good  as  ever,  if  not  better.  His  health  is  very 
delicate,  and  that  one  thing  seems  to  be  a  blessing 
to  him." 

"A    blessing!      Why,    Kate     Mortimer!       Kate 


230  Stepping  Heavenward 

Elliott,  I  mean.  It  is  a  blessing  I,  for  one,  am  very 
willing  to  dispense  with.  But  you  always  did  say 
queer  things.  Well,  I  dare  say  Dr.  Cabot  is  very 
good  and  all  that,  but  his  church  is  not  a  fashion- 
able one,  and  Charley  and  I  go  to  Dr.  Bellamy^s. 
That  is,  I  go  once  a  day,  pretty  regularly,  and 
Charley  goes  when  he  feels  like  it.  Good-by.  I 
must  go  now  ;  I  have  all  my  fall  shopping  to  do. 
Have  you  done  yours?  Suppose  you  jump  into  the 
carriage  and  go  with  me  ?  You  can't  imagine  how 
it  passes  away  the  morning  to  drive  from  shop  to 
shop  looking  over  the  new  goods." 

"  There  seem  to  be  a  number  of  things  I  can't 
imagine,"  I  replied,  drily.  "You  must  excuse  me 
this  morning." 

She  took  her  leave.  I  looked  at  her  rich  dress  as 
she  gathered  it  about  her  and  swept  away,  and 
recalled  all  her  empty,  frivolous  talk  with  con- 
tempt. 

She  and  Ch- ,  her  husband,  I  mean,  are  well 

matched.  They  need  their  money,  and  their  pal- 
aces and  their  fine  clothes  and  handsome  equipages, 
for  they  have  nothing  else.  How  thankful  I  am 
that  I  am  as  unlike  them  as  ex 

October  30. — Fm  sure  I  don't  know  what  I  was 
going  to  say  when  I  was  interrupted  just  then. 
Something  in  the  way  of  self-glorification,  most 
likely.  I  remember  the  contempt  with  which  I 
looked  after  Amelia  as  she  left  our  house,  and  the 
pinnacle  on  which  I  sat  perched  for  some  days, 
when  I  compared  my  life  with  hers.     Alas,  it  v/as 


Stepping  Heavenward  231 

my  view  of  life  of  which  I  was  lost  in  admiration, 
for  I  am  sure  that  if  I  ever  come  under  the  com- 
plete dominion  of  Christ's  gospel  I  shall  not  know 
the  sentiment  of  disdain.  I  feel  truly  ashamed  and 
sorry  that  I  am  still  so  far  from  being  penetrated 
with  that  spirit. 

My  pride  has  had  a  terrible  fall.  As  I  sat  on  my 
throne,  looking  down  on  all  the  Amelias  in  the 
world,  I  felt  a  profound  pity  at  their  delight  in 
petty  trifles,  their  love  of  position,  of  mere  worldly 
show  and  passing  vanities. 

"  They  are  all  alike,"  I  said  to  myself.  "  They 
are  incapable  of  understanding  a  character  like 
mine,  or  the  exalted,  ennobling  principles  that  gov- 
ern me.  They  crave  the  applause  of  this  world, 
they  are  satisfied  with  fine  clothes,  fine  houses,  fine 
equipages.  They  think  and  talk  of  nothing  else  ;  I 
have  not  one  idea  in  common  with  them.  I  see  the 
emptiness  and  hollowness  of  these  things.  I  am 
absolutely  unworldly  ;  my  ambition  is  to  attain 
whatever  they,  in  their  blind  folly  and  ignorance, 
absolutely  despise." 

Thus  communing  with  myself,  I  was  not  a  little 
pleased  to  hear  Dr.  Cabot  and  his  wife  announced. 
I  hastened  to  meet  them  and  to  display  to  them  the 
virtues  I  so  admired  in  myself.  They  had  hardly  a 
chance  to  utter  a  word.  I  spoke  eloquently  of  my 
contempt  for  worldly  vanities,  and  of  my  enthusi- 
astic longings  for  a  higher  life.  I  even  went  into 
particulars  about  the  foibles  of  some  of  my  acquain- 
tances, though  faint  misgivings  as  to  the  propriety 
of  such  remarks  on  the  absent  made  me  half  repent 


232  Stepping  Heavenward 

tiie  words  I  still  kept  uttering.  When  they  took 
leave  I  rushed  to  my  room  with  my  heart  beating, 
my  cheeks  all  in  a  glow,  and  caught  up  and  caressed 
the  children  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  astonish  them. 
Then  I  took  my  work  and  sat  down  to  sew.  What 
a  horrible  reaction  now  took  place !  I  saw  my 
refined,  subtle,  disgusting  pride,  just  as  I  suppose 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  Cabot  saw  it !  I  sat  covered  with 
confusion,  shocked  at  myself,  shocked  at  the  weak- 
ness of  human  nature.  Oh,  to  get  back  the  good 
opinion  of  my  friends  !  To  recover  my  own  self- 
respect  !  But  this  was  impossible.  I  threw  down 
my  work  and  walked  about  my  room.  There  was 
a  terrible  struggle  in  my  soul.  I  saw  that  instead 
of  brooding  over  the  display  I  had  made  of  myself 
to  Dr.  Cabot  I  ought  to  be  thinking  solely  of  my 
appearance  in  the  sight  of  God,  who  could  see  far 
more  plainly  than  any  earthly  eye  could  all  my 
miserable  pride  and  self-conceit.  But  I  could  not 
do  that,  and  chafed  about  till  I  was  worn  out,  body 
and  soul.  At  last  I  sent  the  children  away,  and 
knelt  down  and  told  the  whole  story  to  Him  who 
knew  what  I  was  when  He  had  compassion  on  me, 
called  me  by  my  name,  and  made  me  His  own 
child.  And  here  I  found  a  certain  peace.  Chris- 
tian, on  his  way  to  the  celestial  city,  met  and  fought 
his  Apollyons  and  his  giants,  too  ;  but  he  got  there 
at  last  ! 


XVIII. 

November. 

This  morning  Ernest  received  an  early  summons 
to  Amelia.  I  got  out  of  all  manner  of  patience  with 
him  because  he  would  take  his  bath  and  eat  his 
breakfast  before  he  went,  and  should  have  driven 
any  one  else  distracted  by  my  hurry  and  flurry. 

"  She  has  had  a  hemorrhage  !"  I  cried.  ''  Do, 
Ernest,  make  haste." 

"  Of  course,"  he  returned,  "  that  would  come, 
sooner  or  later." 

"  You  don't  mean,"  I  said,  "  that  she  has  been  in 
danger  of  this  all  along  ?" 

^^  I  certainly  do." 

'^  Then  it  was  very  unkind  in  you  not  to  tell  me 
so." 

"  I  told  you  at  the  outset  that  her  lungs  were  dis- 
eased." 

"  No,  you  told  me  no  such  thing.  Oh,  Ernest,  is 
she  going  to  die  ?" 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  fond  of  her,"  he  said, 
apologetically. 

"  It  is  not  that,"  I  cried.  '*  I  am  distressed  at  the 
thought  of  the  worldly  life  she  has  been  living — at 
my  never  trying  to  influence  her  for  her  good.  If 
she  is  in  danger,  you  will  tell  her  so  ?  Promise  me 
that." 

(233) 


234  Stepping  Heavenward 

^^  I  must  see  her  before  I  make  such  a  promise," 
he  said,  and  went  out. 

I  flew  up  to  my  room  and  threw  myself  on  my 
knees,  sorrowful,  self-condemned.  I  had  thrown 
away  my  last  opportunity  of  speaking  a  word  to  her 
in  season,  though  I  had  seen  how  much  she  needed 
one,  and  now  she  was  going  to  die  !  Oh,  I  hope 
God  will  forgive  me,  and  hear  the  prayers  I  have 
offered  her  ! 

Evening. — Ernest  says  he  had  a  most  distressing 
scene  at  Amelia's  this  morning.  She  insisted  on 
knowing  what  he  thought  of  her,  and  then  burst  out 
into  bitter  complaints  and  lamentations,  charging  it 
to  her  husband  that  she  had  this  disease,  declaring 
that  she  could  not,  and  would  not  die,  and  insisting 
that  he  must  prevent  it.  Her  uncle  urged  for  a  con- 
sultation of  physicians,  to  which  Ernest  consented, 
of  course,  though  he  says  no  mortal  power  can  save 
her  now.  I  asked  him  how  her  husband  appeared, 
to  which  he  made  the  evasi  /e  answer  that  he  ap- 
peared just  as  one  would  expect  him  to  do. 

December. — Amelia  was  so  determined  to  see  me 
that  Ernest  thought  it  best  for  me  to  go.  I  found 
her  looking  very  feeble. 

"  Oh,  Katy,"  she  began  at  once,  "  do  make  the  doc- 
tor say  that  I  shall  get  well  !" 

"  I  wish  he  could  say  so  with  truth,"  I  answered. 
"  Dear  Amelia,  try  to  think  how  happy  God's  own 
children  are  when  they  are  with  Him." 

^^  I  can't  think,"  she  replied.     "  I  do  not  want  to 


Stepping  Heavenward  235 

think.  I  want  to  forget  all  about  it.  If  it  were  not 
for  this  terrible  cough  I  could  forget  it,  for  I  am 
really  a  great  deal  better  than  I  was  a   month  ago." 

I  did  not  know  what  to  say  or  what  to  do. 

"  May  I  read  a  hymn  or  a  few  verses  from  the 
Bible  ?"  I  asked,  at  last. 

*'  Just  as  you  like,"  she  said,  indifferently. 

I  read  a  verse  now  and  then,  but  she  looked  tired, 
and  I  prepared  to  go. 

"  Don't  go,"  she  cried.  "  I  do  not  dare  to  be  alone. 
Oh,  what  a  terrible,  terrible  thing  it  is  to  die !  To 
leave  this  bright,  beautiful  world,  and  be  nailed  up 
in  a  coffin  and  buried  up  in  a  cold,  dark  grave  !" 

"  Nay,"  I  said,  "  to  leave  this  poor  sick  body  there, 
and  to  fly  to  a  world  ten  thousand  times  brighter, 
more  beautiful  than  this." 

"I  had  just  got  to  feeling  nearly  well,"  she  said, 
'*  and  I  had  everything  I  wanted,  and  Charley  was 
quite  good  to  me,  and  I  kept  my  little  girls  looking 
like  fairies,  just  from  fairy-land.  Everybody  said 
they  wore  the  most  picturesque  costumes  when  they 
were  dressed  according  to  my  taste.  And  I  have  got 
to  go  and  leave  them,  and  Charley  will  be  marrying 
somebody  else,  and  saying  to  her  all  the  nice  things 
he  has  said  to  me." 

'*  I  really  must  go  now,"  I  said.  "You  are  wear- 
ing yourself  all  out." 

"  I  declare  you  are  crying,"  she  exclaimed.  "You 
do  pity  me  after  all." 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  I  said,  and  came  away,  heartsick. 

Ernest  says  there  is  nothing  I  can  do  for  her  now 
but  to  pray  for  her,  since  she  does  not  really  be- 


236  Stepping  Heavenward 

lieve  herself  in  danger,  and  has  a  vague  feeling  that 
if  she  can  once  convince  him  how  much  she  wants 
to  live,  he  will  use  some  vigorous  measures  to  re- 
store her.  Martha  is  to  watch  with  her  to-night. 
Ernest  will  not  let  me. 


Jan.  18,  1843. — Our  wedding-day  has  passed  un- 
observed. Amelia's  suffering  condition  absorbs  us 
all.  Martha  spends  much  time  with  her,  and  pre- 
pares almost  all  the  food  she  eats. 

Jan.  20. — I  have  seen  poor  Amelia  once  more,  and 
perhaps  for  the  last  time.  She  has  failed  rapidly  of 
late,  and  Ernest  says  may  drop  away  at  almost  any 
time. 

When  I  went  in  she  took  me  by  the  hand,  and 
with  great  difficulty,  and  at  intervals  said  something 
like  this  : 

"I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  it,  and  I  know  it 
must  come.  I  want  to  see  Dr.  Cabot.  Do  you  think 
he  would  be  willing  to  visit  me  after  my  neglecting 
him  so  ? " 

"  I  am  sure  he  would,"  I  cried. 

"  I  want  to  ask  him  if  he  thinks  I  was  a  Christian 
at  that  time — you  know  when.  If  I  was,  then  I  need 
not  be  so  afraid  to  die." 

"  But,  dear  Amelia,  what  he  thinks  is  very  little 
to  the  purpose.  The  question  is  not  whether  you 
ever  gave  yourself  to  God,  but  whether  you  are  His 
now.  But  I  ought  not  to  talk  to  you.  Dr.  Cabot 
will  know  just  what  to  say." 


Stepping  Heavenward  237 

"  No,  but  I  want  to  know  what  you  thought 
about  it." 

I  felt  distressed,  as  I  looked  at  her  wasted  dying 
figure,  to  be  called  on  to  help  decide  such  a  ques- 
tion. But  I  knew  what  I  ought  to  say,  and  said  it : 
"  Don't  look  back  to  the  past ;  it  is  useless.  Give 
yourself  to  Christ  now." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  know  how,"  she  said.  "  Oh,  Katy,  pray 
to  God  to  let  me  live  long  enough  to  get  ready  to 
die.  I  have  led  a  worldly  life.  I  shudder  at  the 
bare  thought  of  dying  ;  I  7nust  have  time." 

"  Don't  wait  for  time,"  I  said,  with  tears,  "  get 
ready  now,  this  minute.  A  thousand  years  would 
not  make  you  more  fit  to  die." 

So  I  came  away,  weary  and  heavy-laden,  and  on 
the  way  home  stopped  to  tell  Dr.  Cabot  all  about 
it,  and  by  this  time  he  is  with  her. 

"March  i. — Poor  Amelia's  short  race  on  earth  is 
over.  Dr.  Cabot  saw  her  every  few  days  and  says 
he  hopes  she  did  depart  in  Christian  faith,  though 
without  Christian  joy.  I  have  not  seen  her  since 
that  last  interview.  That  excited  me  so  that  Ernest 
would  not  let  me  go  again. 

Martha  has  been  there  nearly  the  whole  time  for 
three  or  four  weeks,  and  I  really  think  it  has  done 
her  good.  She  seems  less  absorbed  in  mere  out- 
side things,  and  more  lenient  toward  me  and  my 
failings. 

I  do  not  know  what  is  to  become  of  those  mother 


238  Stepping  Heavenward 

less  little  girls.  I  wish  I  could  take  them  into  my  own 
home,  but,  of  course,  that  is  not  even  to  be  thought 
of  at  this  juncture.  Ernest  says  their  father  seemed 
nearly  distracted  when  Amelia  died,  and  that  his 
uncle  is  going  to  send  him  off  to  Europe  immedi- 
ately. 

I  have  been  talking  with  Ernest  about  Amelia. 
"What  do  you  think,"  I  asked,  "about  her  last  days 
on  earth  ?  Was  there  really  any  preparation  for 
death?" 

"  These  scenes  are  very  painful,"  he  returned. 
"  Of  course  there  is  but  one  real  preparation  for 
Christian  dying,  and  that  is  Christian  living." 

"  But  the  sick-room  often  does  what  a  prosperous 
life  never  did  !  " 

"  Not  often.  Sick  persons  delude  themselves,  or 
are  deluded  by  their  friends  ;  they  do  not  believe 
they  are  really  about  to  die.  Besides,  they  are  be- 
wildered and  exhausted  by  disease,  and  what  men- 
tal strength  they  have  is  occupied  with  studying 
symptoms,  watching  for  the  doctor,  and  the  like.  I 
do  not  now  recall  a  single  instance  where  a  worldly 
Christian  died  a  happy,  joyful  death,  in  all  my  prac- 
tice." 

"  Well,  in  one  sense  it  makes  no  difference  whether 
they  die  happily  or  not.  The  question  is  do  they 
die  in  the  Lord  ?" 

"  It  may  make  no  vital  difference  to  them,  but  we 
must  not  forget  that  God  is  honored  or  dishonored 
by  the  way  a  Christian  dies,  as  w^ell  as  by  the  way 
in  which  he  lives.  There  is  great  significance  in  the 
description  given  in  the  Bible  of  the  death  by  which 


Stepping  Heavenward  239 

John  should  ''Glorify  God' ;  to  my  mind  it  implies 
that  to  die  well  is  to  live  well." 

"But  how  many  thousands  die  suddenly,  or  of 
such  exhausting  disease  that  they  cannot  honor  God 
by  even  one  feeble  word." 

"  Of  course,  I  do  not  refer  to  such  cases.  All  I 
ask  is  that  those  whose  minds  are  clear,  who  are 
able  to  attend  to  all  other  final  details,  should  let  it 
be  seen  what  the  gospel  of  Christ  can  do  for  poor 
sinners  in  the  great  exigency  of  life,  giving  Him  the 
glory.  I  can  tell  you,  my  darling,  that  standing,  as 
I  so  often  do,  by  dying  beds,  this  whole  subject  has 
become  one  of  great  magnitude  to  my  mind.  And 
it  gives  me  positive  personal  pain  to  see  heirs  of  the 
eternal  kingdom,  made  such  by  the  ignominious 
death  of  their  Lord,  go  shrinking  and  weeping  to 
the  full  possession  of  their  inheritance." 

Ernest  is  right,  I  am  sure,  but  how  shall  the 
World,  even  the  Christian  world,  be  convinced  that 
it  may  have  blessed  fortastes  of  heaven  while  yet 
plodding  upon  earth,  and  faith  to  go  thither  joy- 
fully, for  the  simple  asking  ? 

Poor  Amelia !  But  she  understands  it  all  now. 
It  is  a  blessed  thing  to  have  this  great  faith,  and 
it  is  a  blessed  thing  to  have  a  Saviour  who  accepts 
it  when  it  is  but  a  mere  grain  of  mustard-seed  ! 

May  24. — I  celebrated  my  little  Una's  third  birth- 
day by  presenting  her  with  a  new  brother.  Both 
the  children  welcomed  him  with  delight  that  was  of 
itself  compensation  enough  for  all  it  cost  me  to  get 
up  such  a  celebration.     Martha  takes  a  most  prosaic 


240  Stepping  Heavenward 

view  of  this  proceeding,  in  which  she  detects  malice 
prepense  on  my  part.  She  says  I  shall  now  have  one 
mouth  the  more  to  fill,  and  two  feet  the  more  to 
shoe  ;  more  disturbed  nights,  more  laborious  days, 
and  less  leisure  for  visiting,  reading,  music,  and 
drawing. 

Well  !  this  is  one  side  of  the  story,  to  be  sure, 
but  I  look  at  the  other.  Here  is  a  sweet,  fragrant 
mouth  to  kiss  ;  here  are  two  more  feet  to  make 
music  with  their  pattering  about  my  nursery.  Here 
is  a  soul  to  train  for  God,  and  the  body  in  which  it 
dwells  is  worthy  all  it  will  cost,  since  it  is  the  abode 
of  a  kingly  tenant.  I  may  see  less  of  friends,  but  I 
have  gained  one  dearer  than  them  all,  to  whom, 
while  I  minister  in  Christ's  name,  I  make  a  willing 
sacrifice  of  what  little  leisure  for  my  own  recreation 
my  other  darlings  had  left  me.  Yes,  my  precious 
baby,  you  are  welcome  to  your  mother's  heart, 
welcome  to  her  time,  her  strength,  her  health,  her 
tenderest  cares,  to  her  life-long  prayers  !  Oh,  how 
rich  I  am,  how  truly,  how  wondrously  blest ! 

June  5. — We  begin  to  be  wofully  crowded.  We 
need  a  larger  house,  or  a  smaller  household.  I  am 
afraid  I  secretly,  down  at  the  bottom  of  my  heart, 
wish  Martha  and  her  father  could  give  place 
to  my  little  ones.  May  God  forgive  me  if  this  is 
so  !  It  is  a  poor  time  for  such  emotions  when  He 
has  just  given  me  another  darling  child,  for  whom  I 
have  as  rich  and  ample  a  love  as  if  I  had  spent  no 
affection  on  the  other  twain.  I  have  made  myself 
especially  kind  to   poor  father  and   to  Martha,  lest 


Stepping  Heavenward  241 

they  should  perceive  how  inconvenient  it  is  to  have 
them  here,  and  be  pained  by  it.  I  would  not  for 
the  world  despoil  them  of  what  little  satisfaction 
they  may  derive  from  living  with  us.  But,  oh  !  1 
am  so  selfish,  and  it  is  so  hard  to  practice  the  very 
law  of  love  I  preach  to  my  children  !  Yet  I  want 
this  law  to  rule  and  reign  in  my  home,  that  it  may 
be  a  little  heaven  below,  and  I  will  not,  no,  I  will 
not,  cease  praying  that  it  may  be  such,  no  matter 
what  it  costs  me.  Poor  father  !  poor  old  man  !  I 
will  try  to  make  your  home  so  sweet  and  home- 
like to  you  that  when  you  change  it  for  heaven 
it  shall  be  but  a  transition  from  one  bliss  to  a 
higher ! 

Evening. — Soon  after  writing  that  I  went  down 
to  see  father,  whom  I  have  had  to  neglect  of  late, 
baby  has  so  used  up  both  time  and  strength.  I 
found  him  and  Martha  engaged  in  what  seemed  to 
be  an  exciting  debate,  as  Martha  had  a  fiery  little 
red  spot  on  each  cheek,  and  was  knitting  furiously. 
I  was  about  to  retreat,  when  she  got  up  in  a  flur- 
ried way  and  went  off,  saying,  as  she  went : 

"  You  tell  her,  father  ;  I  can't." 

I  went  up  to  him  tenderly  and  took  his  hand.  Ah, 
how  gentle  and  loving  we  are  when  we  have  just 
been  speaking  to  God  ! 

"  What  is  it,  dear  father  ?"  I  asked  ;  "  is  anything 
troubling  you  ?" 

"  She  is  going  to  be  married,"  he  replied. 

"Oh,  father !"  I  cried,  "  how  n —  "  nice,  I  was  go- 
ing to  say,  but  stopped  just  in  time. 


242  Stepping  Heavenward 

All  my  abominable  selfishness  that  I  thought  I 
had  left  at  my  Master's  feet  ten  minutes  before  now 
came  trooping  back  in  full  force. 

**  She's  going  to  be  married  ;  she'll  go  away,  and 
will  take  her  father  to  live  with  her  !  I  can  have 
room  for  my  children,  and  room  for  mother  !  Every 
element  of  discord  will  now  leave  my  home,  and 
Ernest  will  see  what  I  really  am  1" 

These  were  the  thoughts  that  rushed  through  my 
mind,  and  that  illuminated  my  face. 

"  Does  Ernest  know  ?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  Ernest  has  known  it  for  some  weeks." 

Then  I  felt  injured  and  inwardly  accused  Ernest 
of  unkindness  in  keeping  so  important  a  fact  a 
secret.  But  when  I  went  back  to  my  children,  vex- 
ation with  him  took  flight  at  once.  The  coming  of 
each  new  child  strengthens  and  deepens  my  desire 
to  be  what  I  would  have  it  become ;  makes  my  faults 
more  odious  in  my  eyes,  and  elevates  my  whole 
character.  What  a  blessed  discipline  of  joy  and  of 
pain  my  married  life  has  been  ;  how  thankful  I  am 
to  reap  its  fruits  even  while  pricked  by  its  thorns  ! 

JUNE  21. — It  seems  that  the  happy  man  who  has 
wooed  Martha  and  won  her  is  no  less  a  personage 
than  old  Mr.  Underbill.  His  ideal  of  a  woman  is 
one  who  has  no  nerves,  no  sentiment,  no  backaches, 
no  headaches,  who  will  see  that  the  wheels  of  his 
household  machinery  are  kept  well  oiled,  so  that  he 
need  never  hear  them  creak,  and  who,  in  addition  to 
her  other  accomplishments,  believes  in  him  and  will 
be   kind    enough   to   live   for   ever   for  his  private 


Stepping  Heavenward  243 

accommodation.  This  expose  of  his  sentiments  he 
has  made  to  me  in  a  loud,  cheerful,  pompous  way, 
and  he  has  also  favored  me  with  a  description  of 
his  first  wife,  who  lacked  all  these  qualifications, 
and  was  obliging  enough  to  depart  in  peace  at  an 
early  stage  of  their  married  life,  meekly  preferring 
thus  to  make  way  for  a  worthier  successor.  Mr. 
Underhill,  with  all  his  foibles,  however,  is  on  the 
whole  a  good  man.  He  intends  to  take  Amelia's 
little  girls  into  his  own  home,  and  be  a  father,  as 
Martha  will  be  a  mother,  to  them.  For  this  reason 
he  hurries  on  the  marriage,  after  which  they  will  all 
go  at  once  to  his  country-seat,  which  is  easy  of 
access,  and  which  he  says  he  is  sure  father  will  en- 
joy. Poor  old  father  !  I  hope  he  will,  but  when  the 
subject  is  alluded  to  he  maintains  a  sombre  silence, 
and  it  seems  to  me  he  never  spent  so  many  days 
alone  in  his  room,  brooding  over  his  misery,  as  he 
has  of  late.     Oh,  that  I  could  comfort  him. 


July  12. — The  marriage  was  appointed  for  the 
first  of  the  month,  as  old  Mr.  Underhill  wanted  to 
get  out  of  town  before  the  Fourth.  As  the  time 
drew  near,  Martha  began  to  pack  father's  trunk  as 
well  as  her  own,  and  brush  in  and  out  of  his  room 
till  he  had  no  rest  for  the  sole  of  his  foot,  and 
seemed  as  forlorn  as  a  pelican  in  the  wilderness. 

I  know  no  more  striking  picture  of  desolation 
than  that  presented  by  one  of  these  quaint  birds, 
standing  upon  a  single  leg,  feeling  as  the  story  has 
it,  "den  Jammer  und  das  Elend  der  Welt." 


244  Stepping  Heavenward 

On  the  last  evening  in  June  we  all  sat  together  on 
the  piazza,  enjoying,  each  in  our  own  way,  a  refresh- 
ing breeze  that  had  sprung  up  after  a  sultry  day. 
Father  was  quieter  than  usual,  and  seemed  very  lan- 
guid. Ernest  who,  out  of  regard  to  Martha's  last 
evening  at  home,  had  joined  our  little  circle,  ob- 
served this,  and  said,  cheerfully  : 

*VYou  will  feel  better  as  soon  as  you  are  once  more 
out  of  the  city,  father.'' 

Father  made  no  reply  for  some  minutes,  and  when 
he  did  speak  we  were  all  startled  to  find  that  his 
voice  trembled  as  if  he  were  shedding  tears.  We 
could  not  understand  what  he  said.  I  went  to  him 
and  made  him  lean  his  head  upon  me  as  he  often 
did  when  it  ached.     He  took  my  hand  in  both  his. 

^*  You  do  love  the  old  man  a  little  ?"  he  asked,  in 
the  same  tremulous  voice. 

"  Indeed,  I  do  ! "  I  cried,  greatly  touched  by  his 
helpless  appeal,  "  I  love  you  dearly,  father.  And  I 
shall  miss  you  sadly." 

"  Must  I  go  away  then  ?"  he  whispered.  "  Cannot 
I  stay  here  till  my  summons  hence  ?  It  will  not  be 
long,  it  will  not  be  long,  my  child." 

With  the  cry  of  a  hurt  animal,  Martha  sprang  up 
and  rushed  past  us  into  the  house.  Ernest  fol- 
lowed her,  and  we  heard  them  talking  together  a 
long  time.     At  last  Ernest  joined  us. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  "  Martha  is  a  good  deal  wound- 
ed and  disappointed  at  your  reluctance  to  go  with 
her.  She  threatens  to  break  off  her  engagement 
rather  than  to  be  separated  from  you.  I  really  think 
you  would  be  better  off  with  her  than  with  us.    You 


Stepping  Heavenward  245 

would  enjoy  country  life,  because  it  is  what  you 
have  been  accustomed  to  ;  you  could  spend  hours 
of  every  day  in  driving  about ;  just  what  your 
health  requires." 

Father  did  not  reply.  He  took  Ernest's  arm  an-d 
tottered  into  the  house.  Then  wx  had  a  most  pain- 
ful scene.  Martha  reminded  him  with  bitter  tears 
that  her  mother  had  committed  him  to  her  with  her 
last  breath  and  set  before  him  all  the  advantages  he 
would  have  in  her  house  over  ours.  Father  sat  pale 
and  inflexible,  tear  after  tear  rolling  down  his 
cheeks.  Ernest  looked  distressed  and  ready  to  sink. 
As  for  me  I  cried  with  Martha,  and  with  her  father 
by  turns,  and  clung  to  Ernest  with  a  feeling  that  all 
the  foundations  of  the  earth  were  giving  way.  It 
came  time  for  evening  prayers,  and  Ernest  prayed 
as  he  rarely  does,  for  he  is  rarely  so  moved.  He 
quieted  us  all  by  a  few  simple  words  of  appeal  to 
Him  who  loved  us,  and  father  then  consented  to 
spend  the  summer  with  Martha  if  he  might  call  our 
home  his  home,  and  be  with  us  through  the  winter. 
But  this  was  not  till  long  after  the  rest  of  us  went 
to  bed,  and  a  hard  battle  with  Ernest.  He  says  Er- 
nest is  his  favorite  child,  and  that  I  am  his  favorite 
daughter,  and  our  children  inexpressibly  dear  to 
him.  I  am  ashamed  to  write  down  what  he  said  of 
me.  Besides,  I  am  sure  there  is  a  wicked,  wicked 
triumph  over  Martha  in  my  secret  heart.  I  am  too 
elated  with  his  extraordinary  preference  for  us,  to 
sympathize  with  her  mortification  and  grief  as  I 
ought.  Something  whispered  that  she  who  has 
never  pitied  me  deserves   no  pity   now.     But  I  do 


246  Stepping  Heavenward  1 

not  like  this  mean  and  narrow  spirit  in  myself,  nay 
more,  I  hate  and  abhor  it. 

The  marriage  took  place  and  they  all  went  off  to- 
gether, father's  rigid,  white  face,  whiter,  more  rigid 
than  ever.  I  am  to  go  to  mother's  with  the  children 
at  once.  I  feel  that  a  great  stone  has  been  rolled 
away  from  before  the  door  of  my  heart  ;  the  one 
human  being  who  refused  me  a  kindly  smile,  a  sym- 
pathizing word,  has  gone,  never  to  return.  May 
God  go  with  her  and  give  her  a  happy  home,  and 
make  her  true  and  loving  to  those  motherless  little 
ones  ! 


XIX. 

October  i. 
I  HAVE  had  acharmingsummer  with  dear  mother  ; 
and  now  I  have  the  great  joy,  so  long  deferred,  of 
having  her  in  my  own  home.  Ernest  has  been  very 
cordial  about  it,  and  James  has  settled  up  all  her 
worldly  affairs,  so  that  she  has  nothing  to  do  now 
but  to  love  us  and  let  us  love  her.  It  is  a  pleasant 
picture  to  see  her  with  my  little  darlings  about  her, 
telling  the  old  sweet  story  she  told  me  so  often,  and 
making  God  and  Heaven  and  Christ  such  blissful 
realities.  As  I  listen,  I  realize  that  it  is  to  her  I  owe 
that  early,  deep-seated  longing  to  please  the  Lord 
Jesus,  which  I  never  remember  as  having  a  begin- 
ning, or  an  ending,  though  it  did  have  its  fluctua- 
tions. And  it  is  another  pleasant  picture  to  see  her 
sit  in  her  own  old  chair,  which  Ernest  was  thought- 
ful enough  to  have  brought  for  her,  pondering 
cheerfully  over  her  Bible  and  her  Thomas  d  Kempis 
just  as  I  have  seen  her  do  ever  since  I  can  remem- 
ber. And  there  is  still  a  third  pleasant  picture,  only 
that  it  is  a  new  one  ;  it  is  as  she  sits  at  my  right 
hand  at  the  table,  the  living  personification  of  the 
blessed  gospel  of  good  tidings,  with  father,  oppo- 
site, the  fading  image  of  the  law  given  by  Moses. 
For  father  has  come  back  ;  father  and  all  his  ail- 

(247) 


248  Steppmg  Heavenward  f 

ments,  his  pill-boxes,  his  fits  of  despair  and  his  fits 
of  dying.  But  he  is  quiet  and  gentle,  and  even  lov- 
ing, and  as  he  sits  in  his  corner,  his  Bible  on  his 
knees,  I  see  how  much  more  he  reads  the  New  Tes- 
tament than  he  used  to  do,  and  that  the  fourteenth 
chapter  of  St.  John  almost  opens  to  him  of  itself. 

I  must  do  Martha  the  justice  to  say  that  her  ab- 
sence, while  it  increases  my  domestic  peace  and  hap- 
piness, increases  my  cares  also.  What  with  the  chil- 
dren, the  housekeeping,  the  thought  for  mother's 
little  comforts  and  the  concern  for  father's,  I  am  like 
a  bit  of  chaff  driven  before  the  wind,  and  always  in 
a  hurry.  Thei»e  are  so  many  stitches  to  be  taken,  so 
many  things  to  pass  through  one's  brain  !  Mother 
says  no  mortal  woman  ought  to  undertake  so  much, 
but  what  can  I  do  ?  While  Ernest  is  straining  every 
nerve  to  pay  off  those  debts,  I  must  do  all  the 
needlework,  and  we  must  get  along  with  servants 
whose  want  of  skill  makes  them  willing  to  put  up 
with  low  wages.  Of  course  I  cannot  tell  mother 
this,  and  I  really  believe  she  thinks  I  scrimp  and 
pinch  and  overdo  out  of  mere  stinginess. 

December  30. — Ernest  came  to  me  to-day  with  our 
accounts  for  the  last  three  months.  He  looked  quite 
worried,  for  him,  and  asked  me  if  there  were  any 
expenses  we  could  cut  down. 

My  heart  jumped  up  into  my  mouth,  and  I  said  in 
an  irritated  way  : 

"  I  am  killing  myself  with  over-work  now.  Mother 
says  so.  I  sew  every  night  till  twelve  o'clock,  and  I 
feel  all  jaded  out." 


Stepping  Heavenward  249 

"  I  did  not  mean  that  I  wanted  you  to  do  any- 
more than  you  are  doing  now,  dear,'*  he  said,  kindly. 
**  I  know  you  are  ail  jaded  out,  and  I  look  on  this 
state  of  feverish  activity  with  great  anxiety.  Are 
all  these  stitches  absolutely  necessary  T 

"  You  men  know  nothing  about  such  things,"  I 
said,  while  my  conscience  pricked  me  as  I  went  on 
hurrying  to  finish  the  fifth  tuck  in  one  of  Una's  lit- 
tle dresses.  "  Of  course  I  want  my  children  to  look 
decent." 

Ernest  sighed. 

"  I  really  don't  know  what  to  do,"  he  said,  in  a 
hopeless  way.  **  Father's  persisting  in  living  with 
us  is  throwing  a  burden  on  you,  that  with  all  your 
other  cares  is  quite  too  much  for  you.  I  see  and 
feel  it  every  day.  Don't  you  think  I  had  better  ex- 
plain this  to  him  and  let  him  go  to  Martha's  ?" 

"  No,  indeed  !"  I  said.  "  He  shall  stay  here  if  it 
kills  me,  poor  old  man  !" 

Ernest  began  once  more  to  look  over  the  bills. 
"I  don't  know  how  it  is,"  he  said,  " but  since  Martha 
left  us  our  expenses  have  increased  a  good  deal." 

Now  the  truth  is  that  when  Aunty  paid  me  most 
generously  for  teaching  her  childen,  I  did  not  dare 
to  offer  my  earnings  to  Ernest,  lest  he  should  be 
annoyed.  So  I  had  quietly  used  it  for  household 
expenses,  and  it  had  held  out  till  about  the  time  of 
Martha's  marriage.  Ernest's  injustice  was  just  as 
painful,  just  as  insufferable  as  if  he  had  known  this, 
and  I  now  burst  out  with  whatever  my  rasped,  over- 
taxed nerves  impelled  me  to  say,  like  one  possessed. 

Ernest  was  annoyed  and  surprised. 


250  Stepping  Heavenward 

"  I  thought  we  had  done  with  these  things,"  he 
said,  and  gathering  up  the  papers  he  went  off. 

I  rose  and  locked  my  door  and  threw  myself  down 
upon  the  floor  in  an  agony  of  shame,  anger,  and 
physical  exhaustion.  I  did  not  know  how  large  a 
part  of  what  seemed  mere  childish  ill-temper  was 
really  the  cry  of  exasperated  nerves,  that  had  been 
on  too  strained  a  tension,  and  silent  too  long,  and 
Ernest  did  not  know  it  either.  How  could  he  ?  His 
profession  kept  him  for  hours  every  day  in  the  open 
air  ;  there  were  times  when  his  work  was  done  and 
he  could  take  entire  rest  ;  and  his  health  is  abso- 
lutely perfect.  But  I  did  not  make  any  excuse  for 
myself  at  the  moment.  I  was  overwhelmed  with 
the  sense  of  my  utter  unfitness  to  be  a  wife  and  a 
mother. 

Then  I  heard  Ernest  try  to  open  the  door,  and 
finding  it  locked,  he  knocked,  calling  pleasantly  : 

**  It  is  I,  darling  ;  let  me  in." 

I  opened  it  reluctantly  enough. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  put  on  your  things  and  drive 
about  with  me  on  my  rounds.  I  have  no  long  visits  to 
make,  and  while  I  am  seeing  my  patients  you  will 
be  getting  the  air,  which  you  need." 

*'  I  do  not  want  to  go,"  I  said.  "  I  do  not  feel  well 
enough.     Besides,  there's  my  work," 

"  You  can't  see  to  sew  with  these  red  eyes,"  he 
declared.  *^  Come  !  I  prescribe  a  drive,  as  your 
physician." 

"Oh,  Ernest,  how  kind,  how  forgiving  you  are?" 
I  cried,  running  into  the  arms  he  held  out  to  me. 
"  If  you  knew  how  ashamed,  how  sorry,  I  am  !  " 


Stepping  Heavenward  251 

*^  And  if  you  only  knew  how  ashamed  and  sorry  I 
am  !  *'  he  returned.  ''  I  ought  to  have  seen  how  you 
were  taxing  and  over-taxing  yourself,  doing  your 
own  work  and  Martha's  too.    It  must  not  go  on  so." 

By  this  time,  with  a  veil  over  my  face,  he  had  got 
me  downstairs  and  out  into  the  air,  which  fanned 
my  fiery  cheeks  and  cooled  my  heated  brain.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  I  have  had  all  this  tempest  about 
nothing  at  all,  and  that  with  a  character  still  so  un- 
disciplined, I  was  utterly  unworthy  to  be  either  a 
wife  or  a  mother.  But  when  I  tried  to  say  so  in 
broken  words,  Ernest  comforted  me  with  the  gentle- 
ness and  tenderness  of  a  woman. 

"  Your  character  is  not  undisciplined,  my  darling,** 
he  said.  "  Your  nervous  organization  is  very  pecu- 
liar, and  you  have  had  unusual  cares  and  trials  from 
the  beginning  of  our  married  life.  I  ought  not  to 
have  confronted  you  with  my  father's  debts  at  a 
moment  when  you  had  every  reason  to  look  forward 
to  freedom  from  most  petty  economies  and  cares.*' 

"  Don't  say  so,"  I  interrupted.  "  If  you  had  not 
told  me  you  had  this  draft  on  your  resources  I 
should  have  always  suspected  you  of  meanness.  For 
you  know,  dear,  you  have  kept  me — that  is  to  say — 
well  you  could  not  help  it,  but  I  suppose  men  can't 
understand  how  many  demands  are  made  upon  a 
mother  for  money  almost  every  day.  I  got  along 
very  well  till  the  children  came,  but  since  then  it 
has  been  very  hard." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  am  sure  it  has.  But  let  me 
finish  what  I  was  going  to  say.  I  want  you  to  make 
a  distinction  for  yourself,  which  I  make  for  you,  be- 


252  Stepping  Heavenward 

tween  mere  ill-temper,  and  the  irritability  that  is 
the  result  of  a  goaded  state  of  the  nerves.  Until 
you  do  that,  nothing  can  be  done  to  relieve  you 
from  what  I  am  sure  distresses  and  grieves  you  ex- 
ceedingly. Now,  I  suppose  that  whenever  you  speak 
to  me  or  the  children  in  this  irritated  way  you  lose 
your  own  self-respect,  for  the  time,  at  least,  and  feel 
degraded  in  the  sight  of  God  also." 

"  Oh,  Ernest !  there  are  no  words  in  any  language 
that  mean  enough  to  express  the  anguish  I  feel  when 
I  speak  quick,  impatient  words  to  you,  the  one  hu- 
man being  in  the  universe  whom  I  love  with  all  my 
heart  and  soul,  and  to  my  darling  little  children  who 
are  almost  as  dear !  I  pray  and  mourn  over  it  day 
and  night.  God  only  knows  how  I  hate  myself  on 
account  of  this  one  horrible  sin  !  " 

"  It  is  a  sin  only  as  you  deliberately  and  wilfully 
fulfill  the  conditions  that  lead  to  such  results.  Now 
I  am  sure  if  you  could  once  make  up  your  mind  in 
the  fear  of  God,  never  to  undertake  more  work  of 
any  sort  than  you  can  carry  on  calmly,  quietly,  with- 
out hurry  or  flurry,  and  the  instant  you  find  yourself 
growing  nervous  and  like  one  out  of  breath,  would 
stop  and  take  breath,  you  would  find  this  simple, 
common-sense  rule  doing  for  you  what  no  prayers 
or  tears  could  ever  accomplish.  Will  you  try  it  for 
one  month,  m)^  darling?" 

"  But  we  can't  afford  it,"  I  cried,  with  almost  a 
groan.  *^Why,  you  have  told  me  this  very  day  that 
our  expenses  must  be  cut  down,  and  now  you  want 
me  to  add  to  them  by  doing  less  work.  But  the 
work  must  be  done.     The  children  must  be  clothed, 


Stepping  Heavemvard  253 

and  there  is  no  end  to  the  stitches  to  be  taken  for 
them,  and  your  stockings  must  be  mended — you 
make  enormous  holes  in  them  !  and  you  don't  like 
it  if  you  ever  find  a  button  wanting  to  a  shirt  or 
your  supply  of  shirts  getting  low." 

"All  you  say  may  be  very  true/'  he  returned, 
"but  I  am  determined  that  you  shall  not  be  driven 
to  desperation  as  you  have  been  of  late." 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  the  house  where  his 
visit  was  to  be  made,  and  I  had  nothing  to  do  but 
lean  back  and  revolve  all  he  had  been  saying,  over 
and  over  again,  and  to  see  its  reasonableness  while 
I  could  not  see  what  was  so  be  done  for  my  relief. 
Ah,  I  have  often  felt  in  moments  of  bitter  grief  at 
my  impatience  with  my  children,  that  perhaps  God 
pitied  more  than  He  blamed  me  for  it !  And  now 
my  dear  husband  was  doing  the  same  ! 

When  Ernest  had  finished  his  visit  we  drove  on 
again  in  silence. 

At  last  I  asked  : 

"  Do  tell  me,  Ernest,  if  you  worked  out  this  prob- 
lem all  by  yourself  ?  " 

He  smiled  a  little. 

"  No,  I  did  not.  But  T  have  had  a  patient  for  two 
or  three  years  whose  case  has  interested  me  a  good 
deal,  and  for  whom  I  finally  prescribed  just  as  1 
have  done  for  you.  The  thing  worked  like  a  charm, 
and  she  is  now  physically  and  morally  quite  well. 

"  I  dare  say  her  husband  is  a  rich  man,"  I  said. 

"  He  is  not  as  poor  as  your  husband,  at  any  rate," 
Ernest  replied.  "  But  rich  or  poor  I  am  determined 
not  to  sit  looking  on  while  you  exert  yourself  so  far 


254  Stepping  Heavenward 

beyond  your  strength.  Just  think,  dear,  suppose 
for  fifty  or  a  hundred  or  two  hundred  dollars  a  year 
you  could  buy  a  sweet,  cheerful,  quiet  tone  of  mind, 
would  you  hesitate  one  moment  to  do  so  ?  And 
you  can  do  it  if  you  will.  You  are  not  ///-tempered 
but  ^^/^/^/^- tempered  ;  the  irritability  which  annoys 
you  so  is  a  physical  infirmity  which  will  disappear 
the  moment  you  cease  to  be  goaded  into  it  by  that 
exacting  mistress  you  have  hitherto  been  to  your- 
self." 

All  this  sounded  very  plausible  while  Ernest  was 
talking,  but  the  moment  I  got  home  I  snatched  up 
my  work  from  mere  force  of  habit. 

^'  I  may  as  well  finish  this  as  it  is  begun,"  I  said 
to  myself,  and  the  stitches  flew  from  my  needle  like 
sparks  of  fire.  Little  Ernest  came  and  begged  for 
a  story,  but  I  put  him  off.  Then  Una  wanted  to  sic 
in  my  lap,  but  I  told  her  I  was  too  busy.  In  the 
course  of  an  hour  the  influence  of  the  fresh  air  and 
of  Ernest's  talk  had  nearly  lost  their  power  over 
me  ;  my  thread  kept  breaking,  the  children  leaned 
on  and  tired  me,  the  baby  woke  up  and  cried,  and  I 
got  all  out  of  patience. 

*'  Do  go  away,  Ernest,"  I  said,  "  and  let  mamma 
have  a  little  peace.  Don't  you  see  how  busy  I  am  ? 
Go  and  play  with  Una  like  a  good  boy."  But  he 
would  not  go,  and  kept  teasing  Una  till  she,  too, 
began  to  cry,  and  she  and  baby  made  a  regular 
concert  of  it. 

"Oh,  dear!"  I  sighed,  "this  work  will  never  be 
done  !  "  and  threw  it  down  impatiently,  and  took 
the  baby  impatiently,  and  began  to  walk  up  and 


Stepping  Heavenward  255 

down  with  him  impatiently.  I  was  not  willing  that 
this  little  darling,  whom  I  love  so  dearly,  should 
get  through  with  his  nap  and  interrupt  my  work  ; 
yet  I  was  displeased  with  myself,  and  tried  by  kiss- 
ing him  to  make  some  amends  for  the  hasty,  un- 
pleasant tones  with  which  I  had  grieved  him  and 
frightened  the  other  children.  This  evening  Ernest 
came  to  me  with  a  larger  sum  of  money  than  he  had 
ever  given  me  at  one  time. 

"  Now  every  cent  of  this  is  to  be  spent,"  he  said, 
"  in  having  work  done.  I  know  any  number  of  poor 
women  who  will  be  thankful  to  have  all  you  can 
give  them." 

Dear  me  !  it  is  easy  to  talk,  and  I  do  feel  grateful 
to  Ernest  for  his  thoughtfulness  and  kindness.  But 
I  am  almost  in  rags,  and  need  ev^ery  cent  of  this 
money  to  make  myself  decent.  I  am  positively 
ashamed  to  go  anywhere,  my  clothes  are  so  shabby. 
Besides,  supposing  I  leave  off  sewing  and  all  sorts 
of  over-doing  of  a  kindred  nature,  I  must  nurse  my 
baby,  I  suppose,  and  be  up  with  him  nights  and  the 
others  will  have  their  cross  days  and  their  sick  days, 
and  father  will  have  his.  Alas,  there  can  be  for  mc 
no  royal  road  to  a  "  sweet,  cheerful,  quiet  tone  of 
mind  ! " 

January  i,  1844. — Mother  says  Ernest  is  entirely 
right  in  forbidding  my  working  so  hard.  I  must 
own  that  I  already  feel  better.  I  have  all  the  time  I 
need  to  read  my  Bible  and  to  pray  now,  and  the 
children  do  not  irritate  and  annoy  me  as  they  did. 
Who  knows  but  I  shall  yet  become  quite  amiable  ? 


256  Stepping  Heavenward 

Ernest  made  his  father  very  happy  to-day  by 
telling  him  that  the  last  of  those  wretched  debts 
is  paid.  I  think  that  he  might  have  told  me  that 
this  deliverance  was  at  hand.  I  did  not  know  but 
we  had  years  of  these  struggles  with  poverty  be- 
fore us.  What  with  the  relief  from  this  anxiety,  my 
improved  state  of  health,  and  father's  pleasure,  I  am 
in  splendid  spirits  to-day.  Ernest,  too,  seems  won- 
derfully cheerful,  and  we  both  feel  that  we  may 
now  look  forward  to  a  quiet  happiness  we  have 
never  known.  With  such  a  husband  and  such 
children  as  mine,  I  ought  to  be  the  most  grateful 
creature  on  earth.  And  I  have  dear  mother  and 
James  besides.  I  don't  quite  know  what  to  think 
about  James'  relation  to  Lucy.  He  is  so  brimful 
and  running  over  with  happiness  that  he  is  also  full 
of  fun  and  of  love,  and  after  all  he  may  only  like 
her  as  a  cousin. 

Feb.  14. — Father  has  not  been  so  well  of  late.  It 
seems  as  if  he  kept  up  until  he  was  relieved  about 
those  debts,  and  then  sunk  down.  I  read  to  him  a 
good  deal,  and  so  does  mother,  but  his  mind  is  still 
dark,  and  he  looks  forward  to  the  hour  of  death 
with  painful  misgivings.  He  is  getting  a  little 
childish  about  my  leaving  him,  and  clings  to  me 
exactly  as  if  I  were  his  own  child.  Martha  spends 
a  good  deal  of  time  with  him,  and  fusses  over  him 
in  a  way  that  I  wonder  she  does  not  see  is  annoy- 
ing to  him.  He  wants  to  be  read  to,  to  hear  a 
hymn  sung  or  averse  repeated,  and  to  be  left  other- 
wise in  perfect  quiet.     But  she  is  continually  pull- 


Stepping  Heavenward  257 

ing  out  and  shaking  up  his  pillows,  bathing  his 
head  in  hot  vinegar  and  soaking  his  feet.  It  looks 
so  odd  to  see  her  in  one  of  the  elegant  silk  dresses 
old  Mr.  Underhill  makes  her  wear,  with  her  sleeves 
rolled  up,  the  skirt  hid  away  under  a  large  apron, 
rubbing  away  at  poor  father  till  it  seems  as  if  his 
tired  soul  would  fly  out  of  him. 

Feb.  20. — Father  grows  weaker  every  day. 
Ernest  has  sent  for  his  other  children,  John  and 
Helen.  Martha  is  no  longer  able  to  come  here  ; 
her  husband  is  very  sick  with  a  fever,  and  cannot 
be  left  alone.  No  doubt  he  enjoys  her  bustling 
way  of  nursing,  and  likes  to  have  his  pillows  pushed 
from  under  him  every  five  minutes.  I  am  afraid  I 
feel  glad  that  she  is  kept  away,  and  that  I  have 
father  all  to  myself.  Ernest  never  was  so  fond  of 
me  as  he  is  now.     I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  it. 

Feb.  22. — John  and  his  wife  and  Helen  have  come. 
They  stay  at  Martha's,  where  there  is  plenty  of 
room.  John's  wife  is  a  little  soft  dumpling  of  a 
thing,  and  looks  up  to  him  as  a  mouse  would  look 
up  at  a  steeple.  He  strikes  me  as  a  very  selfish 
man.  He  steers  straight  for  the  best  seat,  leaving 
her  standing,  if  need  be,  accepts  her  humble  atten- 
tions with  the  air  of  one  collecting  his  just  debts, 
and  is  continually  snubbing  and  setting  her  right. 
Yet  in  some  things  he  is  very  like  Ernest,  and 
perhaps  a  wife  destitute  of  self-assertion  and  with- 
out much  individuality  would  have  spoiled  him  as 
Harriet  has  spoiled  John.     For  I  think   it  must  be 


258  Stepping  Heavenward 

partly  her  fault  that  he  dares  to  be  so  egotistical. 
Helen  is  the  dearest,  prettiest  creature  I  ever  saw. 
Oh,  why  would  James  take  a  fancy  to-  Lucy  !  I 
feel  the  new  delight  of  having  a  sister  to  love  and 
to  admire.  And  she  will  love  me  in  time  ;  I  feel 
sure  of  it. 

March  i. — Father  is  very  feeble  and  in  great 
mental  distress.  He  gropes  about  in  the  dark,  and 
shudders  at  the  approach  of  death.  We  can  do 
nothing  but  pray  for  him.  And  the  cloud  will  be 
lifted  when  he  leaves  this  world,  if  not  before.  For 
I  know  he  is  a  good,  yes,  a  saintly  man,  dear  to 
God  and  dear  to  Christ. 

March  4. — Dear  father  has  gOne.  We  were  all 
kneeling  and  praying  and  weeping  around  ^im, 
when  suddenly  he  called  me  to  come  to  him.  I 
went  and  let  him  lean  his  head-  on  my  breast,  as  he 
loved  to  do.  Sometimes  I  have  stood  so  by  the 
hour  together  ready  to  sink  with  fatigue,  and  only 
kept  up  with  the  thought  that  if  this  were  m}>  own 
precious  father's  bruised  head  I  could  stand  and 
hold  it  forever. 

"  Daughter  Katherine,"  he  said,  in  his  faint, 
tremulous  way,  "  you  have  come  with  me  to  the 
very  brink  of  the  river.  I  thank  God  for  all  your 
cheering  words  and  ways.  I  thank  God  for  giving 
you  to  be  a  helpmeet  to  my  son.  Farewell,  now,'* 
he  added,  in  a  low,  firm  -voice,  "  I  feel  the  bottom, 
and  it  is  good  !  " 

He  lay  back  on  his  pillow  looking  upward  with  an 


Stepping  Heavenward  259 

expression  of  seraphic  peace  and  joy  on  his  worn, 
meagre  face,  and  so  his  life  passed  gently  away. 

Oh,  the  affluence  of  God's  payments  !  What  a 
recompense  for  the  poor  love  I  had  given  my  hus- 
band's father,  and  the  poor  little  services  I  had 
rendered  him  !  Oh,  that  I  had  never  been  impatient 
with  him,  never  smiled  at  his  peculiarities,  never  in 
my  secret  heart  felt  him  unwelcome  to  my  home  ! 
And  how  wholly  I  overlooked,  in  my  blind  selfish- 
ness, what  he  must  have  suffered  in  feeling  himself 
homeless,  dwelling  with  us  on  sufferance,  but  master 
and  head  nowhere  on  earth  !  May  God  carry  these 
lessons  home  to  my  heart  of  hearts,  and  make  this 
cloud  of  mingled  remorse  and  shame  which  now 
envelops  me  to  descend  in  showers  of  love  and 
benediction  on  every  human  soul  that  mine  can 
bless  ! 


XX. 

April. 

I  HAVE  had  a  new  lesson  which  has  almost  broken 
my  heart.  In  looking  over  his  fathers  papers, 
Ernest  found  a  little  journal,  brief  in  its  records  in- 
deed, but  we  learn  from  it  that  on  all  those  wed- 
ding and  birthdays,  when  I  fancied  his  austere 
religion  made  him  hold  aloof  from  our  merry- 
making, he  was  spending  the  time  in  fasting  and 
praying  for  us  and  for  our  children  !  Oh,  shall  I 
ever  learn  the  sweet  charity  that  thinketh  no  evil, 
and  believeth  all  things  ?  What  blessings  may  not 
have  descended  upon  us  and  our  children  through 
those  prayers !  What  evils  may  they  not  have 
warded  off !  Dear  old  father  !  Oh,  that  I  could 
once  more  put  my  loving  arms  about  him  and  bid 
him  welcome  to  our  home  !  And  how  gladly  would 
I  now  confess  to  him  all  my  unjust  judgments  con- 
cerning him  and  entreat  his  foregiveness  !  Must 
life  always  go  on  thus  ?  Must  I  always  be  erring, 
ignorant  and  blind  ?  How  I  hate  this  arrogant 
sweeping  past  my  brother  man  ;  this  utter  ignoring 
of  his  hidden  life  ? 

I  see  now  that  it  is  well  for  mother  that  she  did 
not  come  to  live  with  me  at  the  beginning  of  my 
married  life.  I  should  not  have  borne  with  her 
(260) 


Stepping  Heavenward  261 

little  peculiarities,  nor  have  made  her  half  so  happy 
as  I  can  now.  I  thank  God  that  my  varied  disap- 
pointments and  discomforts,  my  feeble  health,  my 
poverty,  my  mortifications  have  done  me  some  lit- 
tle good,  and  driven  me  to  Him  a  thousand  times  be- 
cause I  could  not  get  along  without  His  help.  But 
I  am  not  satisfied  with  my  state  in  His  sight.  I  am 
sure  something  is  lacking,  though  I  know  not  what 
it  is. 

May. — Helen  is  going  to  stay  here  and  live  with 
Martha.  How  glad,  how  enchanted  I  am  !  Old 
Mr.  Underhill  is  getting  well  ;  I  saw  him  to-day. 
He  can  talk  of  nothing  but  his  illness,  of  Martha's 
wonderful  skill  in  nursing  him,  declaring  that  he 
owes  his  life  to  her.  I  felt  a  little  piqued  at  this 
speech,  because  Ernest  w^as  very  attentive  to  him, 
and  no  doubt  did  his  share  towards  the  cure.  We 
have  fitted  up  father's  room  for  a  nursery.  Hitherto 
all  the  children  have  had  to  sleep  in  our  room, 
which  has  been  bad  for  them  and  bad  for  us.  I 
have  been  so  afraid  they  would  keep  Ernest  awake 
if  they  were  unwell  and  restless.  I  have  secured  an 
excellent  nurse,  who  is  as  fresh  and  blooming  as  the 
flower  whose  name  she  bears.  The  children  are 
already  attached  to  her,  and  I  feel  that  the  worst  of 
my  life  is  now  over. 

June. — Little  Ernest  was  taken  sick  on  the  very 
day  I  wrote  that.  The  attack  was  fearfully  sudden 
and  violent.  He  is  still  very,  very  ill.  I  have  not 
forgotten  that  I  said  once  that  I  would  give  my  chil- 


262  Stepping  Heavenward 

dren  to  God  should  He  ask  for  them.  And  I  will. 
But,  oh,  this  agony  of  suspense  !  It  eats  into  my 
soul  and  eats  it  away.  Oh,  my  little  Ernest !  My 
first-born  son  !  My  pride,  my  joy,  my  hope  !  And 
I  thought  the  worst  of  my  life  was  over  ! 

August. — We  have  come  into  the  country  with 
what  God  has  left  us,  our  two  youngest  children. 
Yes,  I  have  tasted  the  bitter  cup  of  bereavement, 
and  drunk  it  down  to  its  dregs.  I  gave  my  darling 
to  God,  I  gave  him,  I  gave  him  !  But,  oh,  with 
what  anguish  I  saw  those  round,  dimpled  limbs 
wither  and  waste  away,  the  glad  smile  fade  forever 
from  that  beautiful  face  !  What  a  fearful  thing  it 
is  to  be  a  mother  !  But  I  have  given  my  child  to 
God.  I  would  not  recall  him  if  I  could.  I  am 
thankful  He  has  counted  me  worthy  to  present  Him 
so  costly  a  gift. 

I  cannot  shed  a  tear,  and  I  must  find  relief  in 
writing,  or  I  shall  lose  my  senses.  My  noble,  beau- 
tiful boy  !  My  first-born  son  !  And  to  think  that 
my  delicate  little  Una  still  lives,  and  that  death  has 
claimed  that  bright,  glad  creature  who  was  the  sun- 
shine of  our  home  ! 

But  let  me  not  forget  my  mercies.  Let  me  not 
forget  that  I  have  a  precious  husband  and  two  dar- 
ling children,  and  my  kind,  sympathizing  mother 
still  left  to  me.  Let  me  not  forget  how  many  kind 
friends  gathered  about  us  in  our  sorrow.  Above  all 
let  me  remember  God's  loving-kindness  and  tender 
mercy.  He  has  not  left  us  to  the  bitterness  of  a 
grief  that   refuses   and    disdains   to  be   comforted. 


Stepping  Heavenwa7^d  263 

We  believe  in  Him,  we  love  Him,  we  worship  Him 
as  we  never  did  before. 

My  dear  Ernest  has  felt  this  sorrow  to  his  heart's 
core.  But  he  has  not  for  one  moment  questioned 
the  goodness  or  the  love  of  our  Father  in  thus  tak- 
ing from  us  the  child  who  promised  to  be  our  great- 
est earthly  joy.  Our  consent  to  God's  will  has 
drawn  us  together  very  closely  ;  together  we  bear 
the  yoke  in  our  youth,  together  we  pray  and  sing 
praises  in  the  very  midst  of  our  tears.  "  I  was  dumb 
with  silence  because  Thou  didst  it. ' 

Sept. — The  old  pain  and  cough  have  come  back 
with  the  first  cool  nights  of  this  month.  Perhaps  I 
am  going  to  my  darling — I  do  not  know.  I  am  cer- 
tainly very  feeble.  Consenting  to  suffer  does  not  an- 
nul the  suffering.  Such  a  child  could  not  go  hence 
without  rending  and  tearing  its  way  out  of  the 
heart  that  loved  it.  This  world  is  wholly  changed 
to  me  and  I  walk  in  it  like  one  in  a  dream.  And 
dear  Ernest  is  changed,  too.  He  says  little,  and  is 
all  kindness  and  goodness  to  me,  but  I  can  see  that 
here  is  a  wound  that  will  never  be  healed. 

I  am  confined  to  my  room  now  with  nothing  to 
do  but  to  think,  think,  think.  I  do  not  believe  that 
God  has  taken  our  child  in  mere  displeasure,  but  I 
cannot  but  feel  that  this  affliction  might  not  have 
been  necessary  if  I  had  not  so  chafed  and  writhed, 
and  secretly  repined  at  the  way  in  which  my  home 
was  invaded,  and  at  our  galling  poverty.  God  has 
exchanged  the  one  discipline  for  the  other  ;  and  oh, 
%     how  far  more  bitter  is  this  cup  ! 


264  Stepping  Heavenward 

Oct.  4. — My  darling  boy  would  have  been  six 
years  old  to-day.  Ernest  still  keeps  me  shut  up, 
but  he  rather  urges  my  seeing  a  friend  now  and 
then.  People  say  very  strange  things  in  the  way  of 
consolation.  I  begin  to  think  that  a  tender  clasp  of 
the  hand  is  about  all  one  can  give  to  the  afflicted. 
One  says  I  must  not  grieve,  because  my  child  is  bet- 
ter off  in  heaven.  Yes,  he  is  better  off ;  I  know  it, 
I  feel  it  ;  but  I  miss  him  none  the  less.  Others  say 
he  might  have  grown  up  to  be  a  bad  man  and 
broken  my  heart.  Perhaps  he  might,  but  I  cannot 
make  myself  believe  that  likely.  One  lad}^  asked 
me  if  thfs  affliction  was  not  a  rebuke  of  my  idolatry 
of  my  darling ;  and  another,  if  I  had  not  been  in  a 
cold,  worldlytstate,  needing  this  severe  blow  on  that 
account. 

But  I  find  no  consolation  or  support  in  these  re- 
marks. My  comfort  is  in  my  perfect  faith  in  the 
goodness  and  love  of  my  Father,  my  certainty  that 
He  had  a  reason  in  thus  afflicting  me  that  I  should 
admire  and  adore  if  I  knew  what  it  was.  And  in 
the  midst  of  my  sorrow  I  have  had  and  do  have  a 
delight  in  Him  hitherto  unknown,  so  that  some- 
times this  room  in  which  I  am  a  prisoner  seems  like 
the  very  gate  of  heaven. 

May. — A  long  winter  in  my  room,  and  all  sorts  of 
painful  remedies  and  appliances  and  deprivations. 
And  now  I  am  getting  well,  and  drive  out  every 
day.  Martha  sends  her  carriage,  and  mother  goes 
with  me.  Dear  mother  !  How  nearly  perfect  she 
is  !     I   never   saw  a  sweeter  face,  nor  ever   heard 


Stepping  Heavenward  265 

sweeter  expressions  of  faith  in  God,  and  love  to  all 
about  her  than  hers.  She  has  been  my  tower  of 
strength  all  through  these  weary  months,  and  yet 
she  has  shared  my  sorrow  and  made  it  her  own. 

I  can  see  that  dear  Ernest's  affliction  and  this  pro- 
longed anxiety  about  me  have  been  a  heavenly 
benediction  to  him.  I  am  sure  that  every  mother 
whose  sick  child  he  visits  will  have  a  sympathy  he 
could  not  have  given  while  all  our  own  little  ones 
were  alive  and  well.  I  thank  God  that  He  has  thus 
increased  my  dear  husband's  usefulness,  as  I  think 
that  He  has  mine  also.  How  tenderly  I  already  feel 
towards  all  suffering  children,  and  how  easy  it  will 
be  n^w  to  be  patient  with  them  ! 

Keene,  N.  H.,  July  12. — It  is  a  year  ago  this  day 
that  the  brightest  sunshine  faded  out  of  our  lives, 
and  our  beautiful  boy  was  taken  from  us.  I  have 
been  tempted  to  spend  this  anniversary  in  bitter 
tears  and  lamentations.  For  oh,  this  sorrow  is  not 
healed  by  time  !  I  feel  it  more  and  more.  But  I 
begged  God  when  I  first  awoke  this  morning  not 
to  let  me  so  dishonor  and  grieve  Him.  I  may  suf- 
fer, I  must  suffer.  He  means  it,  He  wills  it ;  but  let 
it  be  without  repining,  without  gloomy  despondency. 
The  world  is  full  of  sorrow  ;  it  is  not  I  alone  who 
taste  its  bitter  draughts,  nor  have  I  the  only  right 
to  a  sad  countenance.  Oh,  for  patience  to  bear  on, 
cost  what  it  may  ! 

"  Cheerfully  and  gratefully  I  lay  myself  and  all  I 
am  or  own  at  the  feet  of  Him  who  redeemed  me 
with  His  precious  blood,  engaging  to  follow  Him, 


266  Stepping  Heavenward 

bearing  the  cross  He  lays  upon  me/'  This  is  the 
least  I  can  do,  and  I  do  it  while  my  heart  lies  broken 
and  bleeding  at  His  feet. 

My  dear  little  Una  has  improved  somewhat  in 
health,  but  I  am  never  free  from  anxiety  about  her. 
She  is  my  milk-white  Iamb,  my  dove,  my  fragrant 
flower.  One  cannot  look  in  her  pure  face  without 
a  sense  of  peace  and  rest.  She  is  the  sentinel  who 
voluntarily  guards  my  door  when  I  am  engaged  at 
my  devotions  ;  she  is  my  little  comforter  when  I  am 
sad,  my  companion  and  friend  at  all  times.  I  talk 
to  her  of  Christ,  and  always  have  done,  just  as  I 
think  of  Him,  and  as  if  I  expected  sympathy  frqm 
her  in  my  love  to  Him.  It  was  the  same  with  my 
darling  Ernest.  If  I  required  a  little  self-denial,  I 
said,  cheerfull}^,  "This  is  hard,  but  doing  it  for  our 
best  Friend  sweetens  it,"  and  their  alacrity  was 
pleasant  to  see.  Ernest  threw  his  whole  soul  into 
whatever  he  did,  and  sometimes  when  engaged  in 
play  would  hesitate  a  little  when  directed  to  do 
something  else,  such  as  carrying  a  message  for  me, 
and  the  like.  But  if  I  said,  "  If  you  do  this  cheer- 
fully and  pleasantly,  my  darling,  you  do  it  for  Jesus, 
and  that  will  make  Him  smile  upon  you,"  he  would 
invariably  yield  at  once. 

Is  not  this  the  true,  the  natural  way  of  linking 
every  little  daily  act  of  a  child's  life  with  that  Divine 
Love,  that  Divine  Life  which  gives  meaning  to  all 
things  ? 

But  what  do  I  mean  by  the  vain  boast  that  I  have 
always  trained  my  children  thus  ?  Alas  !  I  have 
done  it  only  at  times  ;   for   while   my   theory  was 


Stepping  Heavenward  267 

sound,  my  temper  of  mind  was  but  too  often  un- 
sound. I  was  often  and  often  impatient  with  my  dear 
little  boy  ;  often  my  tone  was  a  worldly  one  ;  I  was 
often  full  of  eager  interest  in  mere  outside  things, 
and  forgot  that  I  was  living  or  that  my  children 
w^ere  living  save  for  the  present  moment. 

It  seems  now  that  I  have  a  child  in  heaven,  and 
am  bound  to  the  invisible  world  by  such  a  tie  that 
I  can  never  again  be  entirely  absorbed  by  this. 

I  fancy  my  ardent,  eager  little  boy  as  having  some 
such  employments  in  his  new  and  happy  home  as  he 
had  here.  I  see  him  loving  Him  who  took  children 
in  His  arms  and  blessed  them,  with  all  the  warmth 
of  which  his  nature  is  capable,  and  as  perhaps  em- 
ployed as  one  of  those  messengers  whom  God  sends 
forth  as  His  ministers.  For  I  cannot  think  of  those 
active  feet,  those  busy  hands  as  always  quiet.  Ah, 
my  darling,  that  I  could  look  in  upon  you  for  a  mo- 
ment, a  single  moment,  and  catch  one  of  your  radi- 
ant smiles  ;  just  one  ! 

August  4. — How  full  are  David's  Psalms  of  the 
cry  of  the  sufferer  !  He  must  have  experienced  every 
kind  of  bodily  and  mental  torture.  He  gives  most 
vivid  illustrations  of  the  wasting,  wearing  process 
of  disease — for  instance,  what  a  contrast  is  the  pict- 
ure we  have  of  him  when  he  was  "  ruddy,  and 
withal  of  a  beautiful  countenance,  and  goodly  to 
look  to,"  and  the  one  he  paints  of  himself  in  after 
years,  when  he  says,  *'  1  may  tell  all  my  bones,  they 
look  and  stare  upon  me  ;  my  days  are  like  a  shadow 
that  declineth,  and  I  am  withered  like  grass.     I  am 


268  Stepping  Heavenward 

weary  with  groaning  ;  all  the  night  make  I  my  bed 
to  swim  ;  I  water  my  couch  with  my  tears.  For  my 
soul  is  full  of  troubles  ;  and  my  life  draweth  near 
unto  the  grave." 

And  then  what  wails  of  anguish  are  these  ! 

"  I  am  afflicted,  and  ready  to  die  from  my  youth 
up  ;.  while  I  suffer  thy  terrors  I  am  distracted.  Thy 
wrath  lieth  hard  upon  me  and  thou  hast  afflicted  me 
with  all  thy  waves.  All  thy  waves  and  thy  billows 
have  gone  over  me.  Lover  and  friend  hast  thou 
put  far  from  me,  and  mine  acquaintance  into  utter 
darkness." 

Yet  through  it  all  what  grateful  joy  in  God,  what 
expressions  of  living  faith  and  devotion  !  During 
my  long  illness  and  confinement  to  my  room,  the 
Bible  has  been  almost  a  new  book  to  me,  and  I  see 
that  God  has  always  dealt  with  His  children  as  He 
deals  with  them  now,  and  that  no  new  thing  has  be- 
fallen me.  All  these  weary  days  so  full  of  languor, 
these  nights  so  full  of  unrest,  have  had  their  ap- 
pointed mission  to  my  soul.  And  perhaps  I  have 
had  no  discipline  so  salutary  as  this  forced  inaction 
and  uselessness,  at  a  time  when  youth  and  natural 
energy  continually  cried  out  for  room  and  work. 

August  15. — I  dragged  out  my  drawing  materials 
in  a  listless  way  this  morning,  and  began  to  sketch 
the  beautiful  scene  from  my  window.  At  first  I 
could  not  feel  interested.  It  seemed  as  if  my  hand 
was  crippled  and  lost  its  cunning  when  it  unloosed 
its  grasp  of  little  Ernest,  and  let  him  go.  But  I 
prayed,  as  I  worked,  that  I  might   not  yield  to  the 


Stepping  Heavenward  269 

inclination  to  despise  and  throw  away  the  gift  with 
which  God  has  Himself  endowed  me.  Mother  was 
c^ratified,  and  said  it  rested  her  to  see  me  act  like 
myself  once  more.  Ah,  I  have  been  very  selfish, 
and  have  been  far  too  much  absorbed  with  my  sor- 
row and  my  illness  and  my  own  petty  struggles. 

August  19. — I  met  to-day  an  old  friend,  Maria 
Kelly,  who  is  married,  it  seems,  and  settled  down  in 
this  pretty  village.  She  asked  so  many  questions 
about  my  little  Ernest  that  I  had  to  tell  her  the 
whole  story  of  his  precious  life,  sickness  and  death. 
I  forced  myself  to  do  this  quietly,  and  without  any 
great  demand  on  her  sympathies.  My  reward  for 
the  constraint  I  thus  put  upon  myself  was  the  abrupt 
question  : 

"  Haven't  you  grown  stoical  ?" 

I  felt  the  angry  blood  rush  through  my  veins  as 
it  has  not  done  in  a  long  time.  My  pride  was 
wounded  to  the  quick,  and  those  cruel,  unjust  words 
still  rankle  in  my  heart.  This  is  not  as  it  should  be. 
I  am  constantly  praying  that  my  pride  may  be  hum- 
bled, and  then  when  it  is  attacked,  I  shrink  from 
the  pain  the  blow  causes,  and  am  angry  with  the 
hand  that  inflicts  it.  It  is  just  so  with  two  or  three 
unkind  things  Martha  has  said  to  me.  I  can't  help 
brooding  over  them  and  feeling  stung  with  their  in- 
justice, even  while  making  the  most  desperate  strug- 
gle to  rise  above  and  forget  them.  It  is  well  for 
our  fellow-creatures  that  God  forgives  and  excuses 
them,  when  we  fail  to  do  it,  and  I  can  easily  fancy 
that  poor  Maria  Kelly  i§  at  this  moment  dearer  in 


270  Stepping  Heavenward 

His  sight  than  I  am  who  have  taken  fire  at  a  chance 
word.  And  I  can  see  now,  what  I  wonder  I  did  not 
see  at  the  time,  that  God  was  dealing  very  kindly 
and  wisely  with  me  when  He  made  Martha  overlook 
my  good  qualities,  of  which  I  suppose  I  have  some, 
as  everybody  else  has,  and  call  out  all  my  bad  ones, 
since  the  axe  was  thus  laid  at  the  root  of  self-love. 
And  it  is  plain  that  self-love  cannot  die  without  a 
fearful  struggle. 


May  26, 1846. — How  long  it  is  since  I  have  written 
in  my  journal  !  We  have  had  a  winter  full  of  cares, 
perplexities  and  sicknesses.  Mother  began  it  by 
such  a  severe  attack  of  inflammatory  rheumatism  as 
I  could  not  have  supposed  she  could  live  through. 
Her  sufferings  were  dreadful,  and  I  might  almost 
say  her  patience  was,  for  I  often  thought  it  would 
be  less  painful  to  hear  her  groan  and  complain,  than 
to  witness  such  heroic  fortitude,  such  sweet  docility 
under  God's  hand.  I  hope  I  shall  never  forget  the 
lessons  I  have  learned  in  her  sick-room.  Ernest 
says  he  never  shall  cease  to  rejoice  that  she  lives 
with  us,  and  that  he  can  watch  over  her  health.  He 
has  indeed  been  like  a  son  to  her,  and  this  has  been 
a  great  solace  amid  all  her  sufferings.  Before  she 
was  able  to  leave  the  room,  poor  little  Una  was  pros- 
trated by  one  of  her  ill  turns,  and  is  still  very  feeble. 
The  only  way  in  which  she  can  be  diverted  is  by 
reading  to  her,  and  I  have  done  little  else  these  two 
months  but  hold  her  in  my  arms,  singing  little  songs 
and  hymns,  telling  stories  and   reading  what  few 


Stepping  Heavenward  271 

books  I  can  find  that  are  unexciting,  simple,  yet  en- 
tertaining. My  precious  little  darling  !  She  bears 
the  yoke  in  her  youth  without  a  frown,  but  it  is 
agonizing  to  see  her  suffer  so.  How  much  easier  it 
would  be  to  bear  all  her  physical  infirmities  myself  ! 
I  suppose  to  those  who  look  on  from  the  outside, 
we  must  appear  like  a  most  unhappy  family,  since 
we  hardly  get  free  from  one  trouble  before  another 
steps  in.  But  I  see  more  and  more  that  happiness 
is  not  dependent  on  health  or  any  other  outside 
prosperity.  We  are  at  peace  with  each  other  and  at 
peace  with  God  ;  His  dealings  with  us  do  not  per- 
plex or  puzzle  us,  though  we  do  not  pretend  to  un- 
derstand them.  On  the  other  hand,  Martha,  with 
absolutely  perfect  health,  with  a  husband  entirely 
devoted  to  her,  and  with  every  wish  gratified,  yet 
seems  always  careworn  and  dissatisfied.  Her  serv- 
ants worry  her  very  life  out ;  she  misses  the  homely 
household  duties  to  which  she  has  been  accustomed  ; 
and  her  conscience  stumbles  at  little  things,  and 
overlooks  greater  ones.  It  is  very  interesting,  I 
think,  to  study  different  homes,  as  well  as  the  differ- 
ent characters  that  form  them. 

Amelia's  little  girls  are  quiet,  good  children,  to 
whom  their  father  writes  what  Mr.  Underhill  and 
Martha  pronounce  "  beautiful "  letters,  wherein  he 
always  styles  himself  their  "broken-hearted  but 
devoted  father."  "  Devotion,"  to  my  mind,  involves 
self-sacrifice,  and  I  cannot  reconcile  its  use,  in  this 
case,  with  the  life  of  ease  he  leads,  while  all  the  care 
of  his  children  is  thrown  upon  others.  But  some 
people,  by  means  of  a  few  such  phrases,  not  only 


272  Stepping  Heavenwai'd 

impose  upon  themselves  but  upon  their  friends,  and 
pass  for  persons  of  great  sensibility. 

As  I  have  been  confined  to  the  house  nearly  the 
whole  winter,  I  have  had  to  derive  my  spiritual  sup- 
port from  books,  and  as  mother  gradually  recovered, 
she  enjoyed  Leighton  with  me,  as  I  knew  she  would. 
Dr.  Cabot  comes  to  see  us  very  often,  but  I  do  not 
now  find  it  possible  to  get  the  instruction  from  him 
I  used  to  do.  I  see  that  the  Christian  life  must  be 
individual,  as  the  natural  character  is — and  that  I 
cannot  be  exactly  like  Dr.  Cabot,  or  exactly  like 
Mrs.  Campbell,  or  exactly  like  mother,  though  they 
all  three  stimulate  and  are  an  inspiration  to  me. 
But  I  see,  too,  that  the  great  points  of  similarity  in 
Christ's  disciples  have  always  been  the  same.  This 
is  the  testimony  of  all  the  good  books,  sermons, 
hymns,  and  memoirs  I  read — that  God's  ways  are 
infinitely  perfect ;  that  we  are  to  love  Him  for  what 
He  is,  and  therefore  equally  as  much  when  He  af- 
flicts as  when  He  prospers  us  ;  that  there  is  no  real 
happiness  but  in  doing  and  suffering  His  will,  and 
that  this  life  is  but  a  scene  of  probation  through 
which  we  pass  to  the  real  life  above. 


XXL 

May  30. 

Ernest  asked  me  to  go  with  him  to  see  one  of  his 
patients,  as  he  often  does  when  there  is  a  lull  in  the 
tempest  at  home.  We  both  feel  that  as  we  have  so 
little  money  of  our  own  to  give  away,  it  is  a  privi- 
lege to  give  what  services  and  what  cheering  words 
we  can.  As  I  took  it  for  granted  that  we  were  going 
to  see  some  poor  old  woman,  I  put  up  several  little 
packages  of  tea  and  sugar,  with  which  Susan  Green 
always  keeps  me  supplied,  and  added  a  bottle  of  my 
own  raspberry  vinegar,  which  never  ccmes  amiss,  I 
find,  to  old  people.  Ernest  drove  to  the  door  of  an 
aristocratic-looking  house,  and  helped  me  to  alight 
in  his  usual  silence. 

"  It  is  probably  one  of  the  servants  we  are  going 
to  visit,"  I  thought,  within  myself  ;  "but  I  am  sur- 
prised at  his  bringing  me.  The  family  may  not  ap- 
prove it." 

The  next  thing  T  knew  I  found  myself  being  in- 
troduced to  a  beautiful,  brilliant  young  lady,  who 
sat  in  a  wheel-chair  like  a  queen  on  a  throne  in  a 
room  full  of  tasteful  ornaments,  flowers  and  birds. 
Now,  I  had  come  away  just  as  I  was,  when  Ernest 
called  me,  and  that  ^'was''  means  a  very  plain  ging- 
ham dress  wherein  I  had  been  darning  stockings  all 
the  morning.    I  suppose  a  saint  wouldn't  have  cared 

(273) 


274  Stepping  Heavenward 

for  that,  but  /  did,  and  for  a  moment  stood  the 
picture  of  confusion,  my  hands  full  of  oddly  shaped 
parcels,  and  my  face  all  in  a  flame. 

"  My  wife,  Miss  Clifford,"  I  heard  Ernest  say,  and 
then  I  caught  the  curious,  puzzled  look  in  her  eyes, 
which  said  as  plainly  as  words  could  do  : 

**What  has  the  creature  brought  me?" 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  Miss  Clifford,"  I  said,  think- 
ing it  best  to  speak  out  just  the  honest  truth,  "but 
I  supposed  the  doctor  was  taking  me  to  see  some 
one  of  his  old  women,  and  so  I  have  brought  you  a 
little  tea,  and  a  little  sugar,  and  a  bottle  of  raspberry 
vinegar  !  " 

"  How  delicious  !  "  cried  she.  "It  really  rests  me 
to  meet  with  a  genuine  human  being  at  last !  Why 
didn't  you  make  some  stiff,  prim  speech,  instead  of 
telling  the  truth  out  and  out  ?  I  declare  I  mean  to 
keep  all  you  have  brought  me,  just  for  the  fun  of 
the  thing." 

This  put  me  at  ease,  and  I  forgot  all  about  my 
dress  in  a  moment. 

"I  see  you  are  just  what  the  doctor  boasted  you 
were,"  she  went  on.  "  But  he  never  would  bring 
you  to  see  me  before.  I  suppose  he  has  told  you 
why  I  could  not  go  to  see  you  ?" 

"To  tell  the  truth,  he  never  speaks  to  me  of 
his  patients  unless  he  thinks  I  can  be  of  use  to 
them." 

"I  dare  say  I  do  not  look  much  like  an  invalid," 
said  she  ;  "but  here  I  am,  tied  to  this  chair.  It  is 
six  months  since  I  could  bear  my  own  weight  upon 
my  feet." 


Stepping  Heavenward  275 

I  saw  then  that  though  her  face  was  so  bright  and 
full  of  color,  her  hand  was  thin  and  transparent. 
But  what  a  picture  she  made  as  she  sat  there  in  her 
magnificent  beauty,  relieved  by  such  a  back-ground 
of  foliage,  flowers,  and  artistic  objects  ! 

"  I  told  the  doctor  the  other  day  that  life  was 
nothing  but  a  humbug,  and  he  said  he  should  bring 
me  a  remedy  against  that  false  notion  the  next  time 
he  came,  and  you,  I  suppose,  are  that  remedy,"  she 
continued.  "  Come,  begin  ;  I  am  ready  to  take  any 
number  of  doses." 

I  could  only  laugh  and  try  to  look  daggers  at 
Ernest,  who  sat  looking  over  a  magazine,  apparently 
absorbed  in  its  contents. 

"Ah  !  "  she  cried,  nodding  her  head  sagaciously, 
"  I  knew  you  would  agree  with  me." 

"  Agree  with  you  in  calling  life  a  humbug!"  I 
cried,  now  fairly  aroused.  "  Death  itself  is  not  more 
a  reality  !  " 

"  I  have  not  tried  death  yet,"  she  said,  more  seri- 
ously ;  "  but  I  have  tried  life  twenty-fAve  years,  and 
I  know  all  about  it.  It  is  eat,  drink,  sleep,  yawn 
-^nd  be  bored.  It  is  what  shall  I  wear,  where  shall 
I  go,  how  shall  I  get  rid  of  the  time  ;  it  says,  ^  How 
do  you  do  ?  how  is  your  husband  ?  How  are  your 
children?' — it  means,  'Now  I  have  asked  all  the 
conventional  questions,  and  I  don't  care  a  fig  what 
their  answer  may  be.'  " 

"This  may  be  its  meaning  to  some  persons,"  I  re- 
plied, "  for  instance,  to  mere  pleasure-seekers.  But 
of  course  it  is  interpreted  quite  differently  by  others. 
To  some  it  means  nothing  but  a  dull,  hopeless  strug- 


276  Stepping  Heavenward 

gle  with  poverty  and  hardship  —and  its  whole 
aspect  might  be  changed  to  them,  should  those  who 
do  not  know  what  to  do  to  get  rid  of  the  time, 
spend  their  surplus  leisure  in  making  this  struggle 
less  brutalizing.*' 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  such  doctrine,  and  at  one  time 
I  tried  charity  myself.  I  picked  up  a  dozen  or  so  of 
dirty  little  wretches  out  of  the  streets,  and  under- 
took to  clothe  and  teach  them.  I  might  as  well 
have  tried  to  instruct  the  chairs  in  my  room.  Be- 
sides the  whole  house  had  to  be  aired  after  they  had 
gone,  and  mamma  missed  two  teaspoons  and  a 
fork,  and  was  perfectly  disgusted  with  the  whole 
thing.  Then  I  fell  to  knitting  socks  for  babies,  but 
they  only  occupied  my  hands,  and  my  head  felt  as 
empty  as  ever.  Mamma  took  me  off  on  a  journey, 
as  she  always  did  when  I  took  to  moping,  and  that 
diverted  me  for  a  while.  But  after  that  everything 
went  on  in  the  old  way.  I  got  rid  of  part  of  the 
day  by  changing  my  dress,  and  putting  on  my 
pretty  things — it  is  a  great  thing  to  have  a  habit  of 
wearing  one's  ornaments,  for  instance  ;  and  then  in 
the  evening  one  could  go  to  the  opera  or  the  thea- 
ter, or  some  other  place  of  amusement,  after  which 
one  could  sleep  all  through  the  next  morning,  and 
so  get  rid  of  that.  But  I  had  been  used  to  such 
things  all  my  life,  and  they  had  got  to  be  about  as 
flat  as  flat  can  be.  If  I  had  been  born  a  little  earlier 
in  the  history  of  the  world,  I  would  have  gone  into 
a  convent ;  but  that  sort  of  thing  is  out  of  fashion 
now." 

"The  best  convent/'  I  said,  "for  a  woman,  is  the 


Stepping  Heavenward  277 

seclusion  of  her  own  home.  There  she  may  find  her 
vocation  and  fight  her  battles,  and  there  she  may 
learn  the  reality  and  the  earnestness  of  life." 

"  Pshaw  !  "  cried  she.  ^*  Excuse  me,  however,  for 
saying  that  ;  but  some  of  the  most  brilliant  girls  I 
know  have  settled  down  into  mere  married  women, 
and  spend  their  whole  time  in  nursing  babies  ! 
Think  how  belittling  !  " 

"'  Is  it  more  so  than  spending  it  in  dressing,  driv- 
ing, dancing,  and  the  like  ?" 

"  Of  course  it  is.  I  had  a  friend  once  who  shone 
like  a  star  in  society.  She  married,  and  had  four 
children  as  fast  as  she  could.  Well !  what  was  the 
consequence  ?  She  lost  her  beauty,  lost  her  spirit 
and  animation,  lost  her  youth,  and  lost  her  health. 
The  only  earthly  things  she  can  talk  about  are 
teething,  dieting,  and  the  measles  !" 

I  laughed  at  this  exaggeration,  and  looked  round 
to  see  what  Ernest  thought  of  such  talk.  But  he 
had  disappeared. 

"  As  you  have  spoken  plainly  to  me,  knowing  me 
to  be  a  wife  and  a  mother,  you  must  allow  me  to 
speak  plainly  in  return,"  I  began. 

"  Oh,  speak  plainly,  by  all  means  !  I  am  quite 
sick  and  tired  of  having  truth  served  up  in  pink  cot- 
ton, and  scented  with  lavender." 

"  Then  you  will  permit  me  to  say  that  when  you 
speak  contemptuously  of  the  vocation  of  maternity, 
you  dishonor,  not  only  the  mother  who  bore  you, 
but  the  Lord  Jesus  Himself,  who  chose  to  be  born 
of  woman,  and  to  be  ministered  unto  by  her  through 
a  helpless  infancy." 


278  Stepping  Heavenward 

Miss  Clifford  was  a  little  startled. 
*■  How  terribly  in  earnest  you  are  !"  she  said.     "  It 
is  plain  that  to  you,  ai  any  rate,  life  is  indeed  no 
humbug." 

I  thought  of  my  dear  ones,  of  Ernest,  of  my  chil- 
dren, of  mother,  and  of  James,  and  I  thought  of  my 
love  to  them  and  of  theirs  to  me.  And  I  thought 
of  Him  who  alone  gives  reality  to  even  such  joys 
as  these.  My  face  must  have  been  illuminated  by 
the  thought,  for  she  dropped  the  bantering  tone 
she  had  used  hitherto,  and  asked,  with  real  earnest- 
ness : 

^'What  is  it  you  know,  and  that  I  do  not  know, 
that  makes  you  so  satisfied,  while  I  am  so  dissatis- 
fied ?" 

I  hesitated  before  I  answered,  feeling  as  I  never 
felt  before  how  ignorant,  how  unfit  to  lead  others,  I 
really  am.     Then  I  said  : 

"  Perhaps  you  need  to  know  God,  to  know 
Christ  r 

She  looked  disappointed  and  tired.  So  I  came 
away,  first  promising,  at  her  request,  to  go  to  see  her 
again.  I  found  Ernest  just  driving  up,  and  told  him 
what  had  passed.  He  listened  in  his  usual  silence, 
and  I  longed  to  have  him  say  whether  I  had  spoken 
wisely  and  well. 

June  i. — I  have  been  to  see  Miss  Clifford  again, 
and  made  mother  go  with  me.  Miss  Clifford  took 
a  fancy  to  her  at  once. 

"  Ah  !"  she  said,  after  one  glance  at  the  dear,  lov- 


Stepping  Heavenward  279 

ing  face,  "  nobody  need  tell  me  that  you  are  good 
and  kind.  But  I  am  a  little  afraid  of  good  people. 
I  fancy  they  are  always  criticising  me  and  expecting 
me  to  imitate  their  perfection.'* 

"Perfection  does  not  exact  perfection,"  was 
mother's  answer.  **  I  would  rather  be  judged  by  an 
angel  than  by  a  man."  And  then  mother  led  her 
on,  little  by  little,  and  most  adroitly,  ^o  talk  of  her- 
self and  of  her  state  of  health.  She  is  an  orphan, 
and  lives  in  this  great,  stately  house  alone  with  her 
servants.  Until  she  was  4aid  aside  by  the  state  of 
her  health,  she  lived  in  the  world  and  of  it.  Now 
she  is  a  prisoner,  and  prisoners  have  time  to  think. 

"  Here  I  sit,"  she  said,  "  alt  day  long.  I  never  was 
fond  of  staying  at  home,  or  of  reading,  and  needle- 
work I  absolutely  hate.  In  fact,  I  do  not  know  how 
to  sew." 

"  Some  such  pretty,  feminine  work  might  beguile 
you  of  a  few  of  the  long  hours  of  these  long  days," 
said  mother.     "  One  can't  be  always  reading." 

"  But  a  lady  came  to  see  me,  a  Mrs.  Goodhue, 
one  of  your  good  sort,  I  suppose,  and  she  preached 
me  quite  a  sermon  on  the  employment  of  time. 
She  said  I  had  a  solemn  admonition  of  Providence, 
and  ought  to  <ievote  myself  entirely  to  religion.  I 
had  just  begun  to  be  interested  in  a  bit  of  embroid- 
ery, but  she  frightened  me  out  of  it.  But  I  can't 
bear  such  dreadfully  good  people,  with  faces  a  mile 
long." 

Mother  made  her  produce  the  collar,  or  whatever 
it  was,  showed  her  how  to  hold  her  needle  and  ar- 
range her  pattern,  and  they  both  got  so  absorbed 


28o  Stepping  Heavenward 

in  it  that  I  had  leisure  to  look  at  some  of  the  beau- 
tiful things  with  which  the  room  was  full. 

"Make  the  object  of  your  life  right,"  I  heard 
mother  say,  at  last,  "  and  these  little  details  will  take 
care  of  themselves." 

"  But  I  haven't  any  object,"  Miss  Clifford  ob- 
jected, "unless  it  is  to  get  through  these  tedious 
days  somehow.  Before  I  was  taken  ill  my  chief 
object  was  to  make  myself  attractive  to  the  people 
I  met.  And  the  easiest  way  to  do  that  was  to 
dress  becomingly  and  make  myself  look  as  well  as 
I  could." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  mother,  "  that  most  girls  could 
say  the  same.  They  have  an  instinctive  desire  to 
please,  and  they  take  what  they  conceive  to  be  the 
shortest  and  easiest  road  to  that  end.  It  requires  no 
talent,  no  education,  no  thought  to  dress  tastefully  ; 
the  most  empty-hearted,  frivolous  young  person  can 
do  it,  provided  she  has  money  enough.  Those  who 
can't  get  the  money  make  up  for  it  by  a  fearful  ex- 
penditure of  precious  time.  They  plan,  they  cut, 
they  fit,  they  rip,  they  trim  till  they  can  appear  in 
society  looking  exactly  like  everybody  else.  They 
think  of  nothing,  talk  of  nothing  but  how  this  shall 
be  fashioned  and  that  be  trimmed  ;  and  as  to  their 
hair,  Satan  uses  it  as  his  favorite  net,  and  catches 
them  in  it  every  day  of  their  lives." 

"But  I  never  cut  or  trimmed,"  said  Miss  Clifford. 

"  No,  because  you  could  afford  to  have  it  done  for 
you.  But  you  acknowledge  that  you  spent  a  great 
deal  of  time  in  dressing  because  you  thought  that 
the  easiest  way  of  making  yourself  attractive.     But 


Stepping  Heavenward  281 

it  does  not  follow  that  the  easiest  way  is  the  best 
way,  and  sometimes  the  longest  way  round  is  the 
shortest  w^ay  home." 

^^  For  instance  ?'* 

"  Well,  let  us  imagine  a  young  lady,  living  in  the 
world  as  you  say  you  lived.  She  has  never  seriously 
reflected  on  any  subject  one  half  hour  in  her  life. 
She  has  been  borne  on  by  the  current  and  let  it  take 
her  where  it  would.  But  at  last  some  influence  is 
brought  to  bear  upon  her  which  leads  her  to  stop  to 
look  about  her  and  to  think.  She  finds  herself  in  a 
world  of  serious,  momentous  events.  She  sees  that 
she  cannot  live  in  it,  was  not  meant  to  live  in  it  for- 
ever, and  that  her  whole  unknown  future  depends 
on  what  she  is,  not  on  how  she  looks.  She  begins  to 
cast  about  for  some  plan  of  life,  and  this  leads — " 

"  A  plan  of  life  ?"  Miss  Clifford  interrupted.  ''  I 
never  heard  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Yet  you  would  smile  at  an  architect,  who,  hav- 
ing a  noble  structure  to  build,  should  begin  to  work 
on  it  in  a  haphazard  way,  putting  in  a  brick  here 
and  a  stone  there,  weaving  in  straws  and  sticks  if 
they  come  to  hand,  and  when  asked  on  what  work 
he  was  engaged,  and  what  manner  of  building  he 
intended  to  erect,  should  reply  he  had  no  plan,  but 
thought  something  would  come  of  it." 

Miss  Clifford  made  no  reply.  She  sat  with  her 
head  resting  on  her  hand,  looking  dreamily  before 
her,  a  truly  beautiful,  but  unconscious  picture.  I, 
too,  began  to  reflect,  that  while  I  had  really  aimed 
to  make  the  most  out  of  life,  I  had  not  done  it  me- 
thodically or  intelligently 


282  Stepping  Heavenward 

We  are  going  to  try  to  stay  in  town  this  summer. 
Hitherto  Ernest  would  not  listen  to  my  suggestion 
of  what  an  economy  this  would  be.  He  always  said 
this  would  turn  out  anything  but  an  economy  in  the 
end.  But  now  we  have  no  teething  baby;  little 
Raymond  is  a  strong,  healthy  child,  and  Una  re- 
markably well  for  her,  and  money  is  so  slow  to  come 
in  and  so  fast  to  go  out.  What  discomforts  we  suf- 
fer in  the  country  it  would  take  a  book  to  write 
down,  and  here  we  shall  have  our  own  home,  as  usual. 
I  shall  not  have  to  be  separated  from  Ernest,  and  shall 
have  leisure  to  devote  to  two  very  interesting  peo- 
ple who  must  stay  in  town  all  the  year  round,  no 
matter  who  goes  out  of  it.  I  mean  dear  Mrs.  Camp- 
bell and  Miss  Clifford,  who  both  attract  me,  though 
in  such  different  ways. 


XXII. 

October. 

Well,  I  had  my  own  way,  and  I  am  afraid  it  has 
been  an  unwise  one,  for  though  I  have  enjoyed  the 
leisure  afforded'  by  everybody  being  out  of  town, 
and  the  opportunity  it  has  given  me  to  devote  my- 
self to  the  very  sweetest  work  on  earth,  the  care  of 
my  darling  little  ones,  the  heat  and  the  stifling  at- 
mosphere have  been  trying  for  me  and  for  them. 
My  pretty  Rose  went  last  May,  to  bloom  in  a  home 
of  her  own,  so  I  thought  I  would  not  look  for  a 
nurse,  but  take  the  whole  care  of  them  myself.  This 
would  not  be  much  of  a  task  to  a  strong  person,  but 
I  am  not  strong,  and  a  great  deal  of  the  time  just 
dressing  them  and  taking  them  out  to  walk  has  ex- 
hausted me.  Then  all  the  mending  and  other  sew- 
ing must  be  done,  and  with  the  over-exertion  creeps 
in  the  fretful  tone,  the  impatient  word.  Yet  I  never 
can  be  as  impatient  with  little  children  as  I  should 
be  but  for  the  remembrance  that  I  should  count  it 
only  a  joy  to  minister  once  more  to  my  darling  boy, 
cost  what  weariness  it  might. 

But  now  new  cares  are  at  hand,  and  I  have  been 
searching  for  a  person  to  whom  I  can  safely  trust 
my  children  when  I  am  laid  aside.  Thus  far  I  have 
had,  in  this  capacity,  three  different  Temptations  in 
human  form. 

(283) 


284  Stepping  Heavenward 

The  first,  a  smart,  tidy-looking  woman,  informed 
me  at  the  outset  that  she  was  perfectly  competent 
to  take  the  whole  charge  of  the  children,  and  should 
prefer  my  attending  to  my  own  affairs  while  she  at- 
tended to  hers. 

I  replied  that  my  affairs  lay  chiefly  in  caring  for 
and  being  with  my  children  ;  to  which  she  returned 
that  she  feared  I  should  not  suit  her,  as  she  had  her 
own  views  concerning  the  training  of  children.  She 
added,  with  condescension,  that  at  all  events  she 
should  expect  in  any  case  of  difference  (of  judgment) 
between  us,  that  I,  being  the  younger  and  least  expe- 
rienced of  the  two,  should  always  yield  to  her.  She 
then  went  on  to  give  me  her  views  on  the  subject  of 
nursery  management. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  she  said,  "  I  never  pet  or  fondle 
children.     It  makes  them  babyish  and  sickly." 

^'  Oh,  I  see  you  will  not  suit  me,"  I  cried.  "'  You 
need  go  no  farther.  I  consider  love  the  best  edu- 
cator for  a  little  child." 

"  Indeed,  I  think  I  shall  suit  you  perfectly,"  she 
replied,  nothing  daunted.  ^'  I  have  been  in  the  busi- 
ness twenty  years,  and  have  always  suited  where- 
ever  I  lived.  You  will  be  surprised  to  see  how  much 
sewing  I  shall  accomplish,  and  how  quiet  I  shall 
keep  the  children." 

"But  I  don't  want  them  kept  quiet,"  I  persisted. 
"  I  want  them  to  be  as  merry  and  cheerful  as  crick- 
ets, and  I  care  a  great  deal  more  to  have  them 
amused  than  to  have  the  sewing  done,  though  that 
is  important,  I  confess." 


Stepping  Heavenward  285 

"Very  well,  ma'am,  I  will  sit  and  rock  them  by 
the  hour  if  you  wish  it." 

**  But  I  don't  wish  it,"  I  cried,  exasperated  at  the 
coolness  which  gave  her  such  an  advantage  over 
me.  "  Let  us  say  no  more  about  it ;  you  do  not 
suit  me,  and  the  sooner  we  part  the  better.  I  must 
be  mistress  of  my  own  house,  and  I  want  no  advice 
in  relation  to  my  children." 

"  I  shall  hardly  leave  you  before  you  will  regret 
parting  with  me,"  she  returned,  in  a  placid,  pitying 
way. 

I  was  afraid  I  had  not  been  quite  dignified  in  my 
interview  with  this  person,  with  whom  I  ought  to 
have  had  no  discussion,  and  my  equanimity  was 
not  restored  by  her  shaking  hands  with  me  in  a 
patronizing  way  at  parting,  and  expressing  the 
hope  that  I  should  one  day  '^  be  a  green  tree  in  the 
Paradise  of  God."  Nor  was  it  any  too  great  a  con- 
solation to  find  that  she  had  suggested  to  my  cook 
that  my  intellect  was  not  quite  sound. 

Temptation  the  second  confessed  that  she  knew 
nothing,  but  was  willing  to  be  taught.  Yes,  she 
might  be  willing,  but  she  could  not  be  taught. 
She  could  not  see  why  Herbert  should  not  have 
everything  he  chose  to  cry  for,  nor  why  she  should 
not  take  the  children  to  the  kitchens  where  her 
friends  abode,  instead  of  keeping  them  out  in  the 
air.  She  could  not  understand  why  she  must  not 
tell  Una  every  half  hour  that  she  was  as  fair  as  a 
lily,  and  that  the  little  angels  in  heaven  cried  for 
such  hair  as  hers.  And  there  was  no  rhyme  or 
reason,  to  her   mind,  why  she  could   not  have  her 


286  Stepping  Heavenward 

friends  visit  in  her  nursery,  since,  as  she  declared, 
the  cook  would  hear  all  her  secrets  if  she  received 
them  in  the  kitchen.  Her  assurance  that  she 
thought  me  a  very  nice  lady,  and  that  there  never 
were  two  such  children  as  mine,  failed  to  move  my 
hard  heart,  and  I  was  thankful  when  I  got  her  out 
of  the  house. 

Temptation  the  third  appeared,  for  a  time,  the 
perfection  of  a  nurse.  She  kept  herself  and  the 
nursery  and  the  children  in  most  refreshing  order  ; 
she  amused  Una  when  she  was  more  than  usually 
unwell  with  a  perfect  fund  of  innocent  stories  ;  the 
work  flew  from  her  nimble  fingers  as  if  by  magic. 
I  boasted  everywhere  of  my  good  luck,  and  sang 
her  praises  in  Ernest's  ears  till  he  believed  in  her 
with  all  his  heart.  But  one  night  we  were  out  late  ; 
we  had  been  spending  the  evening  at  Aunty's,  and 
came  in  with  Ernest's  night-key  as  quietly  as  possi- 
ble, in  order  not  to  arouse  the  children.  I  stole 
softly  to  the  nursery  to  see  if  all  was  going  on  well 
there.  Bridget,  it  seems,  had  taken  the  opportunity 
to  wash  her  clothes  in  the  nursery,  and  they  hung 
all  about  the  room  drying,  a  hot  fire  raging  for  the 
purpose.  In  the  midst  of  them,  with  a  candle  and 
prayer-book  on  a  chair,  Bridget  knelt  fast  asleep, 
the  candle  within  an  inch  of  her  sleeve.  Her  assur- 
ance when  I  aroused  her  that  she  was  not  asleep, 
but  merely  rapt  in  devotion,  did  not  soften  my  hard 
heart,  nor  was  I  moved  by  the  representation  that 
she  was  a  saint,  and  always  wore  black  on  that 
account.  I  packed  her  off  in  anything  but  a  saintly 
frame,  and   felt   that  a  fourth  Temptation  would 


Stepping  Heavenward  287 

scatter  what  little  grace  I  possessed  to  the  four 
winds.  These  changes  upstairs  made  discord,  too, 
below.  My  cook  was  displeased  at  so  much  coming 
and  going,  and  made  the  kitchen  a  sort  of  a  purga- 
tory which  I  dreaded  to  enter.  At  last,  when  her 
temper  fairly  ran  away  with  her,  and  she  became 
impertinent  to  the  last  degree,  I  said,  coolly  : 

"If  any  lady  should  speak  to  me  in  this  way  I 
should  resent  it.  But  no  lady  would  so  far  forget 
herself.  And  I  overlook  your  rudeness  on  the 
ground  that  you  do  not  know  better  than  to  make 
use  of  such  expressions." 

This  capped  the  climax  !  She  declared  that  she 
had  never  been  told  before  that  she  was  no  lady 
and  did  not  know  how  to  behave,  and  gave  warning 
at  once. 

I  wish  I  could  help  running  to  tell  Ernest  all 
these  annoyances.  It  does  no  good,  and  only  wor- 
ries him.  But  how  much  of  a  woman's  life  is  made 
up  of  such  trials  and  provocations  !  and  how  easy  it 
is  when  on  one's  knees  to  bear  them  aright,  and 
how  far  easier  to  bear  them  wrong  when  one  finds 
the  coal  going  too  fast,  the  butter  out  just  as  one  is 
sitting  down  to  breakfast,  the  potatoes  watery  and 
the  bread  sour  or  heavy  !  And  then  when  one  is 
well  nigh  desperate,  does  one's  husband  fail  to  say, 
in  bland  tones  : 

"  My  dear,  if  you  would  just  speak  to  Bridget,  I 
am  sure  she  would  improve." 

Oh,  that  there  were  indeed  magic  in  a  spoken 
word  ! 

And  do  what  I  can,  the  money  Ernest  gives  me 


288  Stepping  Heavenward 

will  not  hold  out.  He  knows  absolutely  nothing 
about  that  hydra-headed  monster,  a  household.  I 
have  had  to  go  back  to  sewing  as  furiously  as  ever. 
And  with  the  sewing  the  old  pain  in  the  side  has 
come  back,  and  the  sharp,  quick  speech  that  I  hate, 
and  that  Ernest  hates,  and  that  everybody  hates.  I 
groan,  being  burdened,  and  am  almost  weary  of  my 
life.  And  my  prayers  are  all  mixed  up  with  worldly 
thoughts  and  cares.  I  am  appalled  at  all  the  things 
that  have  got  to  be  done  before  winter,  and  am 
tempted  to  cut  short  my  devotions  in  order  to  have 
more  time  to  accomplish  what  I  must  accomplish. 

How  have  I  got  into  this  slough  ?  When  was  it 
that  I  came  down  from  the  Mount  where  I  had  seen 
the  Lord,  and  came  back  to  make  these  miserable, 
petty  things  as  much  my  business  as  ever  ?  Oh, 
these  fluctuations  in  my  religious  life  amaze  me  !  I 
cannot  doubt  that  I  am  really  God's  child  ;  it  would 
be  a  dishonor  to  Him  to  doubt  it.  I  cannot  doubt 
that  I  have  held  as  real  communion  with  Him  as 
with  any  earthly  friend — and  oh,  it  has  been  far 
sweeter  ! 

Oct.  20. — I  made  a  parting  visit  to  Mrs.  Campbell 
to-day,  and,  as  usual,  have  come  away  strengthened 
and  refreshed  She  said  all  sorts  of  kind  things  to 
cheer  and  encourage  me,  and  stimulated  me  to  take 
up  the  burden  of  life  cheerfully  and  patiently,  just 
as  it  comes.  She  assures  me  that  these  fluctuations 
of  feeling  will  by  degrees  give  place  to  a  calmer 
life,  especially  if  I  avoid,  so  far  as  I  can  do  it,  all 
unnecessary  work,  distraction   and   hurry.     And  a 


Stepping  Heavenward  289" 

few  quiet,  resting  words  from  her  have  given  me 
courage  to  press  on  toward  perfection,  no  matter 
how  much  imperfection  I  see  in  myself  and  others. 
And  now  I  am  waiting  for  my  Father's  next  gift, 
and  the  new  cares  and  labors  it  will  bring  with  it. 
I  am  glad  it  is  not  left  for  me  to  decide  my  own  lot. 
I  am  afraid  I  should  never  see  precisely  the  right 
moment  for  welcoming  a  new  bird  into  my  nest, 
dearly  as  I  love  the  rustle  of  their  wings  and  the 
sound  of  their  voices  when  they  do  come.  And  surely 
He  knows  the  right  moments  who  knows  all  my 
struggles  with  a  certain  sort  of  poverty,  poor  health 
and  domestic  care.  If  I  could  feel  that  all  the  time, 
as  I  do  at  this  moment,  how  happy  I  should  al- 
ways be  ! 

January  16,  1847. — This  is  the  tenth  anniversary 
of  our  wedding-day,  and  it  has  been  a  delightful 
one.  If  I  were  called  upon  to  declare  what  has  been 
the  chief  element  of  my  happiness,  I  should  say  it 
was  not  Ernest's  love  to  me  or  mine  to  him,  or  that 
I  am  once  more  the  mother  of  three  children,  or 
that  my  own  dear  mother  still  lives,  though  I  revel 
in  each  and  all  of  these.  But  underneath  them  all, 
deeper,  stronger  than  all,  lies  a  peace  with  God 
that  I  can  compare  to  no  other  joy,  which  I  guard 
as  I  would  guard  hid  treasure,  and  which  must  abide 
if  all  things  else  pass  away. 

My  baby  is  two  months  old,  and  her  name  is 
Ethel.  The  three  children  together  form  a  beauti- 
ful picture  which  I  am  never  tired  of  admiring. 
But  they  will   not   give   me   much  time  for  writing. 


izgo  Stepping  Heavenward 

This  little  new  comer  takes  all  there  is  of  me. 
Mother  brings  me  pleasant  reports  of  Miss  Clifford, 
who,  under  her  gentle,  wise  influence  is  becoming 
an  earnest  Christian,  already  rejoicing  in  the  Provi- 
dence that  arrested  her  where  it  did,  and  forced  her 
to  reflection.  Mother  says  we  ought  to  study  God's 
providence  more  than  we  do,  since  He  has  a  mean- 
ing and  a  purpose  in  everything  He  does.  Some- 
times I  can  do  this  and  find  it  a  source  of  great 
happiness.  Then  worldly  cares  seem  mere  worldly 
cares,  and  I  forget  that  His  wise,  kind  hand  is  in 
every  one  of  them. 

February. — Helen  has  been  spending  the  whole 
day  with  me,  as  she  often  does,  helping  me  with 
her  skillful  needle,  and  with  the  children,  in  a  very 
sweet  way.  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  indulge  in 
writing  down  how  dearly  she  seems  to  love  me,  and 
how  disposed  she  is  to  sit  at  my  feet  as  a  learner 
at  the  very  moment  I  am  longing  to  possess  her 
sweet,  gentle  temper.  But  one  thing  puzzles  me  in 
her,  and  that  is  the  difficulty  she  finds  in  getting 
hold  of  these  simple  truths  her  father  used  to  grope 
after  but  never  found  till  just  as  he  was  passing  out 
of  the  world.  It  seems  as  if  God  had  compensated 
such  turbulent,  fiery  natures  as  mine  by  revealing 
Himself  to  them,  for  the  terrible  hours  of  shame  and 
sorrow  through  which  their  sins  and  follies  cause 
them  to  pass.  I  suffer  far  more  than  Helen  does, 
suffer  bitterly,  painfully,  but  I  enjoy  tenfold  more. 
For  I  know  whom  I  have  believed,  and  I  cannot 
doubt  that  I  am  truly  united  to  Him.    Helen  is  natu- 


Stepping  Heavenward  291 

rally  very  reserved,  but  by  degrees  she  has  come  to 
talk  with  me  quite  frankly.  To-day  as  we  sat  to- 
gether in  the  nursery,  little  Raymond  snatched  a 
toy  from  Una,  who,  as  usual,  yielded  to  him  with- 
out a  frown.  I  called  him  to  me  ;  he  came  reluct- 
antly. 

"  Raymond,  dear,"  I  said,  "  did  you  ever  see  papa 
snatch  anything  from  me  ?  " 

He  smiled,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Well  then,  until  you  see  him  do  it  to  me,  never 
do  it  to  your  sister.  Men  are  gentle  and  polite  to 
women,  and  little  boys  should  be  gentle  and  polite 
to  little  girls." 

The  children  ran  off  to  their  play,  and  Helen  said, 

"  Now  how  different  that  is  from  my  mother's 
management  with  us  !  She  always  made  us  girls 
yield  to  the  boys.  They  would  not  have  thought 
they  could  go  up  to  bed  unless  one  of  us  got  a  candle 
for  them." 

"  That,  I  suppose,  is  the  reason  then  that  Ernest 
expected  me  to  wait  upon  him  after  we  were  mar- 
ried," I  replied.  "I  was  a  little  stiff  about  yielding 
to  him,  for  besides  mother's  precepts,  I  was  influ- 
enced by  my  father's  example.  He  was  so  cour- 
teous, treating  her  with  as  much  respect  as  if  she 
were  a  queen,  and  yet  with  as  much  love  as  if  she 
were  always  a  girl.  I  naturally  expected  the  like 
from  my  husband." 

"  You  must  have  been  disappointed  then,"  she 
said. 

"  Yes,  I  was.  It  cost  me  a  good  many  pouts  and 
tears  of  which  I  am  now  ashamed.    And  Ernest  sel- 


292  Stepping  Heavenward 

dom  annoys  me  now  with  the  little  neglects  that  I 
used  to  make  so  much  of." 

"  Sometimes  I  think  there  are  no  *  little  '  neglects," 
said  Helen.    "  It  takes  less  than  nothing  to  annoy  us." 

'*  And  it  takes  more  than  everything  to  please  us  !  " 
I  cried.  "  But  Ernest  and  I  had  one  stronghold  to 
which  we  always  fled  in  our  troublous  times,  and 
that  was  our  love  for  each  other.  No  matter  how  he 
provoked  me  by  his  little  heedless  ways,  I  had  to 
forgive  him  because  I  loved  him  so.  And  he  had  to 
forgive  me  my  faults  for  the  same  reason." 

"  I  had  no  idea  husbands  and  wives  loved  each 
other  so,"  said  Helen.  ^'  I  thought  they  got  over  it 
as  soon  as  their  cares  and  troubles  came  on,  and  just 
jogged  on  together,  somehow." 

We  both  laughed  and  she  went  on. 

"  If  I  thought  I  should  be  as  happy  as  you  are,  I 
should  be  tempted  to  be  married  myself." 

'^  Ah,  I  thought  your  time  would  come  !  "  I  cried. 

"  Don't  ask  me  any  questions,"  she  said,  her  pretty 
face  growing  prettier  with  a  bright,  warm  glow. 
'^  Give  me  advice  instead  ;  for  instance,  tell  me  how 
I  can  be  sure  that  if  I  love  a  man  I  shall  go  on  lov- 
ing him  through  all  the  wear  and  tear  of  married 
life,  and  how  can  I  be  sure  he  can  and  will  go  on 
loving  me  ?  " 

"Well,  then,  setting  aside  the  fact  that  you  are 
both  lovable  and  loving,  I  will  say  this  :  Happiness, 
in  other  words  love,  in  married  life  is  not  a  mere 
accident.  When  the  union  has  been  formed,  as  most 
Christian  unions  are,  by  God  Himself,  it  is  His  in- 
tention and  His  will  that  it  shall  prove  the  unspeak- 
able  joy  of   both  husband  and  wife,  and  become 


Stepping  Heavenward  293 

more  and  more  so  from  year  to  year.  But  we  are 
imperfect  creatures,  wayward  and  foolish  as  little 
children,  horribly  unreasonable,  selfish  and  willful. 
We  are  not  capable  of  enduring  the  shock  of  find- 
ing at  every  turn  that  our  idol  is  made  of  clay,  and 
that  it  is  prone  to  tumble  off  its  pedestal  and  lie  in 
the  dust,  till  we  pick  it  up  and  set  it  in  its  place 
again.  I  was  struck  with  Ernest's  asking  in  the 
very  first  prayer  he  offered  in  my  presence,  after  our 
marriage,  that  God  would  help  us  love  each  other  ; 
I  felt  that  love  was  the  very  foundation  on  which  I 
was  built,  and  that  there  was  no  danger  that  I  should 
ever  fall  short  in  giving  to  my  husband  all  he  wanted, 
in  full  measure.  But  as  he  went  on  day  after  day 
repeating  this  prayer,  and  I  naturally  made  it  with 
him,  I  came  to  see  that  this  most  precious  of  earthly 
blessings  had  been  and  must  be  God's  gift,  and  that 
while  we  both  looked  at  it  in  that  light,  and  felt  our 
dependence  on  Him  for  it,  we  might  safely  encoun- 
ter together  all  the  assaults  made  upon  us  by  the 
world,  the  flesh,  and  the  devil.  I  believe  we  owe  it 
to  this  constant  prayer  that  we  have  loved  each 
other  so  uniformly  and  with  such  growing  comfort 
in  each  other ;  so  that  our  little  discords  alway's 
have  ended  in  fresh  accord,  and  our  love  has  felt 
conscious  of  resting  on  a  rock — and  that  that  rock 
was  the  will  of  God.*' 

"It  is  plain,  then,"  said  Helen,  "that  you  and  Er- 
nest are  sure  of  one  source  of  happiness  as  long  as 
you  live,  whatever  vicissitudes  you  may  meet  with. 
I  thank  you  so  much  for  what  you  have  said. 
The  fact  is  you  have  been  brought  up  to  carry  re- 
ligion into  everything.     But  I  was  not.     My  mother 


294  Stepping  Heavenward 

was  as  good  as  she  was  lovely,  but  I  think  she  felt, 
and  taught  us  to  feel,  that  we  were  to  put  it  on  as 
we  did  our  Sunday  clothes,  and  to  wear  it,  as  we  did 
them,  carefully  and  reverently,  but  with  pretty  long, 
grave  faces.  But  you  mix  everything  up  so,  that 
when  I  am  with  you  I  never  know  whether  you  are 
most  like  or  most  unlike  other  people.  And  your 
mother  is  just  so." 

"  But  you  forget  that  it  is  to  Ernest  I  owe  my  best 
ideas  about  married  life  ;  I  don't  remember  ever 
talking  with  my  mother  or  any  one  else  on  the  sub- 
ject. And  as  to  carrying  religion  into  everything, 
how  can  one  help  it  if  one's  religion  is  a  vital  part 
of  one's  self,  not  a  cloak  put  on  to  go  to  church  in 
and  hang  up  out  of  the  way  against  next  Sunday  ?" 

Helen  laughed.  She  has  the  merriest,  yet  gentlest 
little  laugh  one  can  imagine.  I  long  to  know  who  it 
is  that  has  been  so  fortunate  as  to  touch  her  heart ! 

March. — I  know  now,  and  glad  I  am  !  The  sly 
little  puss  is  purring  at  this  moment  in  James'  arms; 
at  least  I  suppose  she  is,  as  I  have  discreetly  come 
up  to  my  room  and  left  them  to  themselves.  So  it 
seems  I  have  had  all  these  worries  about  Lucy  for 
naught.  What  made  her  so  fond  of  James  was 
simply  the  fact  that  a  friend  of  his  had  looked  on 
her  with  a  favorable  eye,  regarding  her  as  a  very 
proper  mother  for  four  or  five  children  who  are  in 
need  of  a  shepherd.  Yes,  Lucy  is  going  to  marry  a 
man  so  much  older  than  herself,  that  on  a  pinch  he 
might  have  been  her  father.  She  does  it  from  a 
sense  of  duty,  she  says,  and  to  a  nature  like  hers 
duty  may  perhaps  suffice,  and  no  cry  of  the  heart 


Stepping  Heavenward  295 

have  to  be  stifled  in  its  performance.  We  are  all  so 
happy  in  the  happiness  of  James  and  Helen  that  we 
are  not  in  the  mood  to  criticise  Lucy's  decision.  I 
have  a  strange  and  most  absurd  envy  when  I  think 
what  a  good  time  they  are  having  at  this  moment 
downstairs,  while  I  sit  here  alone,  vainly  wishing  I 
could  see  more  of  Ernest.  Just  as  if  my  happiness 
were  not  a  deeper,  more  blessed  one  than  theirs, 
which  must  be  purged  of  much  dross  before  it  will 
prove  itself  to  be  like  fine  gold.  Yes,  I  suppose  I 
am  as  happy  in  my  dear,  precious  husband  and 
children  as  a  wife  and  mother  can  be  in  a  fallen 
world,  which  must  not  be  a  real  heaven  lest  we 
should  love  the  land  we  journey  through  so  well  as 
to  want  to  pitch  our  tents  in  it  forever,  and  cease  to 
look  and  long  for  the  home  whither  we  are  bound. 

James  will  be  married  almost  immediately,  I  sup- 
pose, as  he  sails  for  Syria  early  in  April.  How  much 
a  missionary  and  his  wife  must  be  to  each  other, 
when,  severing  themselves  from  all  they  ever  loved 
before,  they  go  forth,  hand  in  hand,  not  merely  to 
be  foreigners  in  heathen  lands,  but  to  be  henceforth 
strangers  in  their  own  should  they  ever  return  to  it ! 

Helen  says,  playfully,  that  she  has  not  a  mission- 
ary spirit,  and  is  not  at  all  sure  that  she  shall  go  with 
James.  But  I  don't  think  that  he  feels  very  anxious 
on  that  point ! 

March. — It  does  one's  heart  good  to  see  how 
happy  they  are  !  And  it  does  one's  heart  good  to 
have  one's  husband  set  up  an  opposition  to  the 
goings  on  by  behaving  like  a  lover  himself. 


XXIII. 

January  i,  1851. 

It  is  a  great  while  since  I  wrote  that.  **  God  has 
been  just  as  good  as  ever  "y  I  want  to  say  that  before  I 
say  another  word.  But  He  has  indeed  smitten  me 
very  sorely. 

While  we  were  in  the  midst  of  our  rejoicings 
about  James  and  Helen,  and  the  bright  future  that 
seemed  opening  before  them,  he  came  home  one  day 
very  ill,  Ernest  happened  to  be  in  and  attended  to 
him  at  once.  But  the  disease  was,  at  the  very  out- 
set, so  violent,  and  raged  with  such  absolute  fury, 
that  no  remedies  had  any  effect.  Everything,  even 
now,  seems  confused  in  my  mind.  It  seems  as  if 
there  was  a  sudden  transition  from  the  most  brill- 
iant, joyous  health,  to  a  brief  but  fearful  struggle 
for  life,  speedily  followed  by  the  awful  mystery  and 
stillness  of  death.  Is  it  possible,  I  still  ask  myself, 
that  four  short  days  wrought  an  event  whose  conse- 
quences must  run  through  endless  years  ? — Poor 
mother  !  Poor  Helen  ! — When  it  was  all  over,  I  do 
not  know  what  to  say  of  mother  but  that  she  be- 
haved and  quieted  herself  like  a  weaned  child. 
Her  sweet  composure  awed  me  ;  I  dared  not  give 
way  to  my  own  vehement,  terrible  sorrow  ;  in  the 
presence  of  this  Christ-like  patience,  all  noisy  dem- 
(296) 


Stepping  Heave7tward  297 

onstrations  seemed  profane.  I  thought  no  human 
being  was  less  selfish,  more  loving  than  she  had 
been  for  many  years,  but  the  spirit  that  now  took 
possession  of  her  flowed  into  her  heart  and  life  di- 
rectly from  that  great  Heart  of  love,  whose  depths 
I  had  never  even  begun  to  sound.  There  was,  there- 
fore, something  absolutely  divine  in  her  aspect,  in 
the  tones  of  her  voice,  in  the  very  smile  on  her  face. 
We  could  compare  its  expression  to  nothing  but 
Stephen,  when  he,  being  full  of  the  Holy  Ghost, 
looked  up  steadfastly  to  heaven  and  saw  the  glory 
of  God,  and  Jesus  standing  on  the  right  hand  of 
God.  As  soon  as  James  was  gone  Helen  came  to 
our  home  ;  there  w^as  never  any  discussion  about  it, 
she  came  naturally  to  be  one  of  us.  Mother's 
health,  already  very  frail,  gradually  failed,  and  en- 
compassed as  I  was  with  cares,  I  could  not  be  with 
her  constantly.  Helen  took  the  place  to  her  of  a 
daughter,  and  found  herself  welcomed  like  one. 
The  atmosphere  in  which  we  all  lived  was  one 
which  cannot  be  described  ;  the  love  for  all  of  us 
and  for  every  living  thing  that  flowed  in  mother's 
words  and  tones  passed  all  knowledge.  The  chil- 
dren's little  joys  and  sorrows  interested  her  exactly 
as  if  she  was  one  of  themselves  ;  they  ran  to  her 
with  every  petty  grievance,  and  every  new  pleasure. 
During  the  time  she  lived  with  us  she  had  won 
many  warm  friends,  particularly  among  the  poor 
and  the  suffering.  As  her  strength  would  no  longer 
allow  her  to  go  to  them,  those  who  could  do  so 
came  to  her,  and  I  was  struck  to  see  she  had  ceased 
entirely  from  giving  counsel,  and  now  gave  nothing 


298  Stepping  Heavenward 

but  the  most  beautiful,  tender  compassion  and  sym- 
pathy. I  saw  that  she  was  failing,  but  flattered  my- 
self that  her  own  serenity  and  our  care  would  pro- 
long her  life  still  for  many  years.  I  longed  to  have 
my  children  become  old  enough  to  fully  appreciate 
her  sanctified  character  ;  and  I  thought  she  would 
gradually  fade  away  and  be  set  free, 

As  light  winds  wandering  through  groves  of  bloom. 
Detach  the  delicate  blossoms  from  the  tree. 

But  God's  thoughts  are  not  as  our  thoughts  nor 
His  ways  as  our  ways.  Her  feeble  body  began  to 
suffer  from  the  rudest  assaults  of  pain  ;  day  and 
night,  night  and  day,  she  lived  through  a  martyr- 
dom in  which  what  might  have  been  a  lifetime  of 
suffering  was  concentrated  into  a  fev/  months.  To 
witness  these  sufferings  was  like  the  sundering  of 
joints  and  marrow,  and  once,  only  once,  thank  God  ! 
my  faith  in  Him  staggered  and  reeled  to  and  fro. 
"  How  can  He  look  down  on  such  agonies  ?"  I  cried 
in  my  secret  soul ;  "  is  this  the  work  of  a  God  of 
love^  of  7iiercy2''  Mother  seemed  to  divine  my 
thoughts,  for  she  took  my  hand  tenderly  in  hers 
and  said,  with  great  difficulty  : 

"  Though  He  slay  me,  yet  will  I  trust  in  Him.  He 
is  just  as  good  as  ever."  And  she  smiled.  I  ran 
awa}'  to  Ernest,  crying,  "  Oh,  is  there  nothmg  you  can 
do  for  her?" 

"  What  should  a  poor  mortal  do  where  Christ  has 
done  so  much,  my  darling?"  he  said,  taking  me  in 
his  arms.     "  Let  us  stand  aside  and  see  the  glory  of 


Stepping  Heavenward  299 

God,  with  our  shoes  from  off  our  feet.'*  But  he  went 
to  her  with  one  more  desperate  effort  to  relieve  her, 
yet  in  vain. 

Mrs.  Embury,  of  whom  mother  was  fond,  and  who 
is  always  very  kind  when  we  are  in  trouble,  came  in 
just  then,  and  after  looking  on  a  moment  in  tears 
she  said  to  me  : 

"  God  knows  whom  He  can  trust !  He  would  not 
lay  His  hand  thus  on  all  His  children." 

Those  few  words  quieted  me.  Yes,  God  knows. 
And  now  it  is  all  over.  My  precious,  precious 
mother  has  been  a  saint  in  heaven  more  than  two 
years,  and  has  forgotten  all  the  battles  she  fought 
on  earth,  and  all  her  sorrows  and  all  her  sufferings 
in  the  presence  of  her  Redeemer.  She  knew  that 
she  was  going,  and  the  last  words  she  uttered — and 
they  were  spoken  with  somewhat  of  the  playful, 
quaint  manner  in  which  she  had  spoken  all  her  life, 
and  with  her  own  bright  smile — still  sound  in  my 
ears  : 

"  I  have  given  God  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  but  He 
is  driving  me  into  pasture  now  !" 

And  then,  with  her  cheek  on  her  hand,  she  fell 
asleep,  and  slept  on,  till  just  at  sundown  she  awoke 
to  find  herself  in  the  green  pasture,  the  driving  all 
over  for  ever  and  ever. 

Who  by  searching  can  find  out  God  ?  My  dear 
father  entered  heaven  after  a  prosperous  life  by  a 
path  wherein  he  was  unconscious  of  a  pang,  and  our 
beloved  James  went  bright  and  fresh  and  untar- 
nished by  conflict  straight  to  the  Master's  feast. 
But  what  a  long  lifetime  of  bereavement,  sorrow, 


300  Stepping  Heavemvard 

and  suffering  was  my  darling  mother's  pathway  to 
glory  !  Surely  her  felicity  must  be  greater  than 
theirs,  and  the  crown  she  has  won  by  such  a  strug- 
gle must  be  brighter  than  the  stars  !  And  this  crown 
she  is  even  now,  while  I  sit  here  choked  with  tears, 
casting  joyfully  at  the  feet  of  her  Saviour  ! 

My  sweet  sister,  my  precious  little  Helen,  still 
nestles  in  our  hearts  and  in  our  home.  Martha 
made  one  passionate  appeal  to  her  to  return  to  her, 
but  Ernest  interfered  : 

"  Let  her  stay  with  Katy,"  he  said.  "  James  would 
have  chosen  to  have  her  with  the  one  human  being 
like  himself." 

Does  he  then  think  me,  with  all  my  faults,  the 
languor  of  frail  health,  and  the  cares  and  burdens 
of  life  weighing  upon  me,  enough  like  that  spark- 
ling, brave  boy  to  be  of  use  and  comfort  to  dear 
Helen  ?  I  take  courage  at  the  thought  and  rouse 
myself  afresh,  to  bear  on  with  fidelity  and  patience. 
My  steadfast  aim  now  is  to  follow  in  my  mother's 
footsteps  ;  to  imitate  her  cheerfulness,  her  benevo- 
lence, her  bright,  inspiring  ways,  and  never  to  rest 
till  in  place  of  my  selfish  nature  I  become  as  full  of 
Christ's  love  as  she  became.  I  am  glad  she  is  at  last 
relieved  from  the  knowledge  of  all  my  cares,  and 
though  I  often  and  often  yearn  to  throw  myself  into 
her  arms  and  pour  out  my  cares  and  trials  into  her 
sympathizing  ears,  I  would  not  have  her  back  for 
all  the  world.  She  has  got  away  from  all  the  tur- 
moil and  suffering  of  life  ;  let  her  stay  I 

The  scenes  of  sorrow  through  which  we  have  been 
passing  have  brought  Ernest  nearer  to  me  than  ever, 


Stepping  Heavenward  301 

and  I  can  see  that  this  varied  discipline  has  softened 
and  sweetened  his  character.  Besides,  we  have 
modified  each  other.  Ernest  is  more  demonstrative, 
more  attentive  to  those  little  things  that  make  the 
happiness  of  married  life,  and  I  am  less  childish, 
less  vehement — I  wish  I  could  say  less  selfish,  but 
here  I  seem  to  have  come  to  a  standstill.  But  I 
do  understand  Ernest's  trials  in  his  profession  far 
better  than  I  did,  and  can  feel  and  show  some  sym- 
pathy in  them.  Of  course  the  life  of  a  physician  is 
necessarily  one  of  self-denial,  spent  as  it  is  amid 
scenes  of  suffering  and  sorrow,  which  he  is  often 
powerless  to  alleviate.  But  there  is  besides  the 
wear  and  tear  of  years  of  poverty  ;  his  bills  are  dis- 
puted or  allowed  to  run  on  year  after  year  unno- 
ticed ;  he  is  often  dismissed  because  he  cannot  put 
himself  in  the  place  of  Providence  and  save  life,  and 
a  truly  grateful,  generous  patient  is  almost  an  un- 
known rarity.  I  do  not  speak  of  these  things  to 
complain  of  them.  I  suppose  they  are  a  necessary 
part  of  that  whole  providential  plan  by  which  God 
moulds  and  fashions  and  tempers  the  human  soul, 
just  as  my  petty,  but  incessant  household  cares  are. 
If  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  love  my  husband  and 
children  and  perform  for  them,  without  let  or  hin- 
drance, the  sweet  ideal  duties  of  v/ife  and  mother, 
how  content  I  should  be  to  live  always  in  this 
world  !  But  what  would  become  of  me  if  I  were 
not  called,  in  the  pursuit  of  these  duties  and  in  con- 
tact with  real  life,  to  bear  "  restless  nights,  ill-health, 
unwelcome  news,  the  faults  of  servants,  contempt, 
ingratitude  of  friends,  my  own  failings,  lowness  of 


302  Stepping  Heavenward 

spirits,  the  struggle  in  overcoming  my  corruption, 
and  a  score  of  kindred  trials  !" 

Bishop  Wilson  charges  us  to  bear  all  these  things 
"  as  unto  God,"  and  "  with  the  greatest  privacy." 
How  seldom  I  have  met  them  save  as  lions  in  my 
way,  that  I  would  avoid  if  I  could,  and  how  I  have 
tormented  my  friends  by  tedious  complaints  about 
them  !  Yet  when  compared  with  the  great  trage- 
dies of  suffering  I  have  both  witnessed  and  suffered, 
how  petty  they  seem  ! 

Our  household,  bereft  of  mother's  and  James* 
bright  presence,  now  numbers  just  as  many  mem- 
bers as  it  did  before  they  left  us.  Another  angel 
has  flown  into  it,  though  not  on  wings,  and  I  have 
four  darling  children,  the  baby,  who  can  hardly  be 
called  a  baby  now,  being  nearly  two  years  old.  My 
hands  and  my  heart  are  full,  but  two  of  the  chil- 
dren go  to  school,  and  that  certainly  makes  my  day's 
work  easier. 

The  little  things  are  happier  for  having  regular 
employment,  and  we  are  so  glad  to  meet  each  other 
again  after  the  brief  separation  !  I  try  to  be  at  home 
when  it  is  time  to  expect  them,  for  I  love  to  hear 
the  eager  voices  ask,  in  chorus,  the  moment  the  door 
opens  :  *'  Is  mamma  at  home  ?"  Helen  has  taken 
Daisy  to  sleep  with  her,  which  after  so  many  years 
of  ups  and  downs  at  night,  noww^ith  restless  babies, 
now  to  answer  the  bell  when  Ernest  is  out,  is  a  great 
relief  to  me.  Poor  Helen  !  She  has  never  recovered 
her  cheerfulness  since  James'  death.  It  has  crushed 
her  energies  and  left  her  very  sorrowful.  TliiS  is 
partly  owing  tP   a   soft   and  tender  nature,   easily 


Stepping  Heavenward  303 

borne  down  and  overwhelmed,  partly  to  what  seems 
an  almost  constitutional  inability  to  find  rest  in 
God's  will.  She  assents  to  all  we  say  to  her  about 
submission,  in  a  sweet,  gentle  way,  and  then  comes 
the  invariable,  mournful  wail,  "  But  it  was  so  unex- 
pected !  It  came  so  suddenly  !"  But  I  love  the  lit- 
tle thing,  and  her  affection  for  us  all  is  one  of  our 
greatest  comforts. 

Martha  is  greatly  absorbed  in  her  own  household, 
its  cares  and  its  pleasures.  She  brings  her  little 
Underbills  to  see  us  occasionally,  when  they  put  my 
children  quite  out  of  countenance  by  their  conscious- 
ness of  the  fine  clothes  they  wear,  and  their  knowl- 
edge of  the  world.  Even  I  find  it  hard  not  to  feel 
abashed  in  the  presence  of  so  much  of  the  sort  of 
wisdom  in  which  I  am  lacking.  As  to  Lucy,  she  is 
exactly  in  her  sphere  :  the  calm  dignity  with  which 
she  reigns  in  her  husband's  house,  and  the  modera- 
tion and  self-control  with  which  she  guides  his  chil- 
dren, are  really  instructive.  She  has  a  baby  of  her 
own,  and  though  it  acts  just  like  other  babies,  and 
kicks,  scratches,  pulls  and  cries  when  it  is  washed 
and  dressed,  she  goes  through  that  process  with  a 
serenity  and  deliberation  that  I  envy  with  all  my 
might.  Her  predecessor  in  the  nursery  was  all  nerve 
and  brain,  and  has  left  four  children  made  of  the 
same  material  behind  her.  But  their  wild  spirits  on 
one  day,  and  their  depression  and  languor  on  the 
next,  have  no  visible  effect  upon  her.  Her  influence 
is  always  quieting  ;  she  tones  down  their  vehemence 
with  her  own  calm  decision  and  practical  good  sense. 
It  is  amusing  to  see  her  seated  among  those  four 


304  Stepping  Heavenwara 

little  furies,  who  love  each  other  in  such  a  distracted 
way  that  somebody's  feelings  are  always  getting 
hurt,  and  somebody  always  crying.  By  a  sort  of 
magnetic  influence  she  heals  these  wounds  immedi- 
ately, and  finds  some  prosaic  occupation  as  an  anti- 
dote to  these  poetical  moods.  I  confess  that  I  am 
instructed  and  reproved  whenever  I  go  to  see  her, 
and  wish  I  were  more  like  her. 

But  there  is  no  use  in  trying  to  engraft  an  oppo- 
site nature  on  one's  own.  What  I  am,  that  I  must 
be,  except  as  God  changes  me  into  His  own  image. 
And  everything  brings  me  back  to  that,  as  my  su- 
preme desire.  I  see  more  and  more  that  I  must  be 
myself  what  I  want  my  children  to  be,  and  that  I 
cannot  make  myself  over  even  for  their  sakes.  This 
must  be  His  work,  and  I  wonder  that  it  goes  on  so 
slowly  ;  that  all  the  disappointments,  sorrows,  sick- 
nesses I  have  passed  through,  have  left  me  still  sel- 
fish, still  full  of  imperfections  ! 

March  5,  1852. — This  is  the  sixth  anniversary  ol 
James'  death.  Thinking  it  all  over  after  I  went  to 
bed  last  night,  his  sickness,  his  death,  and  the  weary 
months  that  followed  for  mother,  I  could  not  get 
to  sleep  till  long  past  midnight.  Then  Una  woke, 
crying  with  the  earache,  and  I  was  up  till  nearly 
daybreak  with  her,  poor  child.  I  got  up  jaded  and 
depressed,  almost  ready  to  faint  under  the  burden 
of  life,  and  dreading  to  meet  Helen,  who  is  doubly 
sad  on  these  anniversaries.  She  came  down  to 
breakfast  dressed  as  usual  in  deep  mourning,  and 
looking  as  spiritless  as  I    felt.     The  prattle  of  the 


Stepping  Heavenward  305 

children  relieved  the  sombre  silence  maintained  by 
the  rest  of  us,  each  of  whom  acted  depressingly  on 
the  others.  How  things  do  flash  into  one's  mind 
These  words  suddenly  came  to  mine,  as  we  sat 
so  gloomily  at  the  table  God  had  spread  for  us,  and 
which  He  had  enlivened  by  the  four  young  faces 
around  it — 

"Why  should  the  children  of  a  King 
Go  mourning  all  their  days  ?  " 

Why,  indeed  ?  Children  of  a  King  ?  I  felt 
grieved  that  I  was  so  intent  on  my  own  sorrows  as 
to  lose  sight  of  my  relationship  to  Him.  And  then 
I  asked  myself  what  I  could  do  to  make  the  day 
less  wearisome  and  sorrowful  to  Helen.  She  came, 
after  a  time,  with  her  work  to  my  room.  The  chil- 
dren took  their  good-by  kisses  and  went  off  to 
school  ;  Ernest  took  his,  too,  and  set  forth  on  his 
day's  work,  while  Daisy  played  quietly  about  the 
room. 

"  Helen,  dear,"  I  ventured  at  last  to  begin,  "  I 
want  you  to  do  me  a  favor  to-day." 

^^Yes,"  she  said,  languidly. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  to  see  Mrs.  Campbell.  This 
is  the  day  for  her  beef-tea,  and  she  will  be  looking 
out  for  one  of  us." 

"  You  must  not  ask  me  to  go  to-day,''  Helen  an- 
swered. 

"  I  think  I  must,  dear.  When  other  springs  of 
comfort  dry  up,  there  is  one  always  left  to  us.  And 
that,  as  mother  often  said,  is  usefulness." 


30.6  Stepping  Heavenward 

"I  do  try  to  be  useful,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  you  are  very  kind  to  me  and  to  the  children. 
If  you  were  my  own  sister  you  could  not  do  more. 
But  these  little  duties  do  not  relieve  that  aching 
void  in  your  heart  which  yearns  so  for  relief." 

"  No,"  she  said,  quickly,  "  I  have  no  such  yearning. 
I  just  want  to  settle  down  as  I  am  now." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  that  is  the  natural  tendency  of 
sorrow.  But  there  is  great  significance  in  the  prayer 
for  *a  heart  at  leisure  from  itself,  to  soothe  and 
sympathize.'  " 

"Oh,  Katy ! "  she  said,  "you  don't  know,  you 
can't  know,  how  I  feel.  Until  James  began  to  love 
me  so  I  did  not  know  there  was  such  a  love  as  that 
in  the  world.  You  know  our  family  is  different 
from  yours.  And  it  is  so  delightful  to  be  loved. 
Or  rather  it  w^as  !  " 

"  Don't  say  was^''  I  said.  "  You  know  we  all  love 
you  dearly,  dearly." 

"  Yes,  but  not  as  James  did  !  " 

"That  is  true.  It  was  foolish  in  me  to  expect  to 
console  you  by  such  suggestions.  But  to  go  back  to 
Mrs.  Campbell.  She  will  sympathize  with  you,  if 
you  will  let  her,  as  very  few  can,  for  she  has  lost 
both  husband  and  children." 

"Ah,  but  she  had  a  husband  for  a  time,  at  least. 
It  is  not  as  if  he  were  snatched  away  before  they 
had  lived  together." 

If  anybody  else  had  said  this  I  should  have  felt 
that  it  was  out  of  mere  perverseness.  But  dear  little 
Helen  is  not  perverse  ;  she  is  simply  overburdened. 

"  I  grant  that  your  diapp ointment  was  greater  than 


Stepping   Heavenward  307 

hers,"  I  went  on.  "  But  the  affliction  was  not.  Every 
day  that  a  husband  and  wife  walk  hand  in  hand  to- 
gether upon  earth  makes  of  the  twain  more  and  more 
one  flesh.  The  selfish  element  which  at  first  formed 
so  large  a  part  of  their  attraction  to  each  other  dis- 
appears, and  the  union  becomes  so  pure  and  beauti- 
ful as  to  form  a  fitting  type  of  the  union  of  Christ 
and  His  church.  There  is  nothing  else  on  earth 
like  it." 

Helen  sighed. 

"  I  find  it  hard  to  believe,"  she  said,  "there  can  be 
anything  more  delicious  than  the  months  in  which 
James  and  I  were  so  happy  together." 

"  Suffering  together  would  have  brought  you  even 
nearer,"  I  replied.  "  Dear  Helen,  I  am  very  sorry 
for  you  ;  I  hope  you  feel  that,  even  when,  according 
to  my  want,  I  fall  into  arguments,  as  if  one  could 
argue  a  sorrow  away  !  " 

"  You  are  so  happy,"  she  answered.  "  Ernest  loves 
you  so  dearly,  and  is  so  proud  of  you,  and  you  have 
such  lovely  children  !  I  ought  not  to  expect  you  to 
sympathize  perfectly  with  my  loneliness." 

"  Yes,  I  am  happy,"  I  said,  after  a  pause  ;  "  but 
you  must  own,  dear,  that  I  have  had  my  sorrows,  too. 
Until  you  become  a  mother  yourself,  you  cannot 
comprehend  what  a  mother  can  suffer,  not  merely 
for  herself,  in  losing  her  children,  but  in  seeing  their 
sufferings.  I  think  I  may  say  of  my  happiness  that 
it  rests  on  something  higher  and  deeper  than  even 
Ernest  and  my  children." 

"And  what  is  that?" 

The  will  of  God,  the  sweet  will  of  God.     If  He 


3o8  Steppi7ig  Heavenward 

should  take  them  all  away,  I  might  still  possess  a 
peace  which  would  flow  on  forever.  I  know  this 
partly  from  my  own  experience  and  partly  from 
that  of  others.  Mrs.  Campbell  says  that  the 
three  months  that  followed  the  death  of  her  first 
child  were  the  happiest  she  had  ever  known.  Mrs. 
Wentworth,  whose  husband  was  snatched  from 
her  almost  without  warning,  and  while  using  ex- 
pressions of  affection  for  her  such  as  a  lover  ad- 
dresses to  his  bride,  said  to  me,  with  tears  rolling 
down  her  cheeks,  yet  with  a  smile,  I  thank  my  God 
and  Saviour  that  He  has  not  forgotten  and  passed 
me  by,  but  has  counted  me  worthy  to  bear  this  sor- 
row for  His  sake.'  And  hear  this  passage  from  the 
life  of  Wesley,  which  I  lighted  on  this  morning : 

"  He  visited  one  of  his  disciples,  w^ho  was  ill  in 
bed,  and  after  having  buried  seven  of  her  family  in 
six  months,  had  just  heard  that  the  eighth,  her  hus- 
band, whom  she  dearly  loved,  had  been  cast  away  at 
sea.  *  I  asked  her,'  he  says,  ^  do  you  not  fret  at  any 
of  those  things  ? '  She  says,  with  a  lovely  smile,  *  Oh, 
no  !  how  can  I  fret  at  anything  which  is  the  will  of 
God  ?  Let  Him  take  all  beside.  He  has  given  me 
Himself.     I  love,  I  praise  Him  every  moment.' " 

^'  Yes,"  Helen  objected,  "  I  can  imagine  people  as 
saying  such  things  in  moments  of  excitement ;  but 
afterwards,  they  have  hours  of  terrible  agony." 

"They  have  ^ hours  of  terrible  agony,'  of  course. 
God's  grace  does  not  harden  our  hearts,  and  make 
them  proof  against  suffering,  like  coats  of  mail. 
They  can  all  say,  *  Out  of  the  depths  have  I  cried  unto 
Thee,'  and  it  is  they  alone  who  have  been  down  into 


Stepping  Heavenward  309 

the  depths,  and  had  rich  experience  of  what  God 
could  be  to  His  children  there,  who  can  utter  such 
testimonials  to  His  honor,  as  those  I  have  just  re- 
peated." 

"  Katy,"  Helen  suddenly  asked,  "  do  you  always 
submit  to  God's  will  thus  ?" 

"  In  great  things  I  do,"  I  said.  "What  grieves  me 
is  that  I  am  constantly  forgetting  to  recognize 
God's  hand  in  the  little  every-day  trials  of  life,  and 
instead  of  receiving  them  as  from  Him,  find  fault 
with  the  instruments  by  which  He  sends  them.  I 
can  give  up  my  child,  my  only  brother,  my  darling 
mother  without  a  word  ;  but  to  receive  every  tire- 
some visitor  as  sent  expressly  and  directly  to  weary 
me  by  the  Master  Himself  ;  to  meet  every  negli- 
gence on  the  part  of  the  servants  as  His  choice  for 
me  at  the  moment ;  to  be  satisfied  and  patient  when 
El  nest  gets  particularly  absorbed  in  his  books,  be- 
cause my  Father  sees  that  little  discipline  suit- 
able for  me  at  the  time  ;  all  this  1  have  not  fully 
learned." 

^'  All  you  say  discourages  me,"  said  Helen,  in  a 
tone  of  deep  dejection.  *^  Such  perfection  was  only 
meant  for  a  few  favored  ones,  and  I  do  not  dare  so 
much  as  to  aim  at  it.  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  I 
must  be  satisfied  with  the  low  state  of  grace  I  am  in 
now  and  always  have  been." 

She  was  about  to  leave  me,  but  I  caught  her 
hand  as  she  would  have  passed  me,  and  made  one 
more  attempt  to  reach  her  poor,  weary  soul. 

"But  are  you  satisfied,  dear  Helen?"  I  asked,  as 
tenderly  as  I  would   speak   to  a  little  sick  child, 


3IO  Stepping  Heavenward 

"  Surely  you  crave  happiness,  as  every  human  soul 
does !  " 

"  Yes,  I  crave  it,*'  she  replied,  *'  but  God  has  taken 
it  from  me." 

*^  He  has  taken  away  your  earthly  happiness,  I 
know,  but  only  to  convince  you  what  better  things 
He  has  in  store  for  you.  Let  me  read  you  a  letter 
which  Dr.  Cabot  wrote  me  many  years  ago,  but 
which  has  been  an  almost  constant  inspiration  to  me 
ever  since." 

She  sat  down,  resumed  her  work  again,  and  lis- 
tened to  the  letter  in  silence.  As  I  came  to  its  last 
sentence  the  three  children  rushed  in  from  school, 
at  least  the  boys  did,  and  threw  themselves  upon  me 
like  men  assaulting  a  fort.  I  have  formed  the  habit 
of  giving  myself  entirely  to  them  at  the  proper  mo- 
ment, and  now  entered  into  their  frolicsome  mood 
as  joyously  as  if  I  had  never  known  a  sorrow  or  lost 
an  hour's  sleep.  At  last  they  went  off  to  their  play- 
room, and  Una  settled  down  by  my  side  to  amuse 
Daisy,  when  Helen  began  again. 

"  I  should  like  to  read  that  letter  myself,"  she 
said.  ^*  Meanwhile  I  want  to  ask  you  one  question. 
What  are  you  made  of  that  you  can  turn  from  one 
thing  to  another  like  lightning?  Talking  one  mo- 
ment as  if  life  depended  on  your  every  word,  and 
then  frisking  about  with  those  wild  boys  as  if  you 
were  a  child  yourself  ?" 

I  saw  Una  look  up  curiously,  to  hear  my  answer, 
as  I  replied, 

"I  have  always  aimed  at  this  flexibility.  I  think 
a  mother,  especially,  ought  to  learn  to  enter  into  the 


Stepping  Heavenward  311 

gayer  moods  of  her  children  at  the  very  moment 
when  her  own  heart  is  sad.  And  it  may  be  as  re- 
ligljus  an  act  for  her  to  romp  with  them  at  the  time 
as  to  pray  with  them  at  another/' 

Helen  now  went  away  to  her  room  with  Dr. 
Cabot's  letter,  which  I  silently  prayed  might  bless 
her  as  it  had  blessed  me.  And  then  a  jaded,  dis- 
heartened mood  came  over  me  that  made  me  feel 
that  all  I  had  been  saying  to  her  was  but  as  sound- 
ing brass  and  a  tinkling  cymbal,  since  my  life  and 
my  professions  did  not  correspond.  Hitherto  my 
consciousness  of  imperfection  has  made  me  hesitate 
to  say  much  to  Helen.  Why  are  we  so  afraid  of 
those  who  live  under  the  same  roof  with  us  ?  It 
must  be  the  conviction  that  those  who  daily  see  us 
acting  in  a  petty,  selfish,  trifling  way,  must  find  it 
hard  to  conceive  that  our  prayers  and  our  desires 
take  a  wider  and  higher  aim.  Dear  little  Helen  ! 
May  the  ice  once  broken  remain  broken  forever. 


XXIV. 

March  20. 

Helen  returned  Dr.  Cabot's  letter  in  silence  this 
morning,  but,  directly  after  breakfast,  set  forth  to 
visit  Mrs.  Campbell,  with  the  little  bottle  of  beef-tea 
in  her  hands,  which  ought  to  have  gone  yesterday. 
I  had  a  busy  day  before  me  ;  the  usual  Saturday 
baking  and  Sunday  dinner  to  oversee,  the  children's 
lessons  for  to-morrow  to  superintend  and  hear  them 
repeat,  their  clean  clothes  to  lay  out,  and  a  basket 
of  stockings  to  mend.  My  mind  was  somewhat  dis- 
tracted with  these  cares,  and  I  found  it  a  little  diffi- 
cult to  keep  on  with  my  morning  devotions  in  spite 
of  them.  But  I  have  learned,  at  least,  to  face  and 
fight  such  distractions,  instead  of  running  away 
from  them  as  I  used  to  do.  My  faith  in  prayer,  my 
resort  to  it,  becomes  more  and  more  the  foundation 
of  my  life,  and  I  believe,  with  one  wiser  and  better 
than  myself,  that  nothing  but  prayer  stands  between 
my  soul  and  the  best  gifts  of  God  ;  in  other  words, 
that  I  can  and  shall  get  what  I  ask  for. 

I  went  down  into  the  kitchen,  put  on  my  large 
baking  apron,  and  began  my  labors  ;  of  course  the 
door-bell  rang,  and  a  poor  woman  was  announced. 
It  is  very  sweet  to  follow  Fenelon's  counsel  and  give 
oneself  to  Christ  in  all  these  interruptions  ;  but  this 
(312) 


Stepping  Heavenward  313 

time  I  said,  *'  oh,  dear  !  "  before  I  thought.  Then  I 
wished  I  hadn't,  and  went  up,  with  a  cheerful  face,  at 
any  rate,  to  my  unwelcome  visitor,  who  proved  to 
be  one  of  my  aggravating  poor  folks — a  great  giant 
of  a  woman,  in  perfect  health,  and  with  a  husband 
to  support  her  if  he  will.  I  told  her  that  I  could  do 
no  more  for  her  ;  she  answered  me  rudely,  and  kept 
on  urging  her  claims.  I  felt  ruffled  ;  why  should 
my  time  be  thus  frittered  away,  I  asked  myself.  At 
last  she  went  off,  abusing  me  in  a  way  that  chilled 
my  heart.  I  could  only  beg  God  to  forgive  her, 
and  return  to  my  work,  which  I  had  hardly  resumed 
when  Mrs.  Embury  sent  for  a  pattern  I  had  promised 
to  lend  her.  Off  came  my  apron,  and  up  two  pairs 
of  stairs  I  ran  ;  after  a  long  search  it  came  to  light. 
Work  resumed ;  door-bell  again.  Aunty  wanted 
the  children  to  come  to  an  early  dinner.  Going  to 
aunty's  is  next  to  going  to  Paradise  to  them.  Every- 
thing was  now  hurry  and  flurry  ;  I  tried  to  be  pa- 
tient, and  not  to  fret  their  temper  by  undue  atten- 
tion to  nails,  ears,  and  other  susceptible  parts  of  the 
human  frame,  but  after  it  was  all  over,  and  I  had 
kissed  all  the  sweet,  dear  faces  good-by,  and  re- 
turned to  the  kitchen,  I  felt  sure  that  I  had  not 
been  the  perfect  mother  I  want  to  be  in  all  these 
little  emergencies — yes,  far  from  it.  Bridget  had 
let  the  milk  I  was  going  to  use  boil  over,  and  finally 
burn  up.  I  was  annoyed  and  irritated,  and  already 
tired,  and  did  not  see  how  I  was  to  get  more,  as 
Mary  was  cleaning  the  silver  (to  be  sure,  there  is 
not  much  of  it),  and  had  other  extra  Saturday  work  to 
do.    I  thought  Bridget  might  offer  to  run  to  the  cor- 


314  Stepping  Heavenward 

ner  for  it,  though  it  isn't  her  business,  but  she  is  not 
obliging,  and  seemed  as  sulky  as  if  I  had  burned 
the  milk,  not  she.  "After  all,"  I  said  to  myself, 
"  what  does  it  signify,  if  Ernest  gets  no  dessert  ?  It 
isn't  good  for  him,  and  how  much  precious  time  is 
wasted  over  just  this  one  thing?"  However,  I  re- 
flected, that  arbitrarily  refusing  to  indulge  him  in 
this  respect  is  not  exactly  my  mission  as  his  wife  ; 
he  is  perfectly  well,  and  likes  his  little  luxuries  as 
well  as  other  people  do.  So  I  humbled  my  pride 
and  asked  Bridget  to  go  for  the  milk,  which  she  did, 
in  a  lofty  way  of  her  own.  While  she  was  gone  the 
marketing  came  home,  and  I  had  everything  to  dis- 
pose of.  Ernest  had  sent  home  some  apples,  which 
plainly  said,  "I  w^ant  some  apple  pie,  Katy."  I 
looked  nervously  at  the  clock,  and  undertook  to 
gratify  him.  Mary  came  down,  crying,  to  say  that 
her  mother,  who  lived  in  Brooklyn,  was  very  sick  ; 
could  she  go  to  see  her  ?  I  looked  at  the  clock  once 
more  ;  told  her  she  should  go,  of  course,  as  soon  as 
lunch  was  over  ;  this  involved  my  doing  all  her  ab- 
sence left  undone. 

At  last  I  got  through  with  the  kitchen,  the  Sun- 
day dinner  being  well  under  way,  and  ran  upstairs 
to  put  away  the  host  of  little  garments  the  children 
had  left  when  they  took  their  flight,  and  to  make 
myself  presentable  at  lunch.  Then  I  began  to  be 
uneasy  lest  Ernest  should  not  be  punctual,  and 
Mary  be  delayed  ;  but  he  came  just  as  the  clock 
struck  one.  I  ran  joyfully  to  meet  him,  very  glad 
now  that  I  had  something  good  to  give  him.  We 
had  just  got  through  lunch,  and  I  was  opening  my 


Stepping  Heavenward  315 

mouth  to  tell  Mary  she  might  go,  when  the  door- 
bell rang  once  more,  and  Mrs.  Fry,  of  Jersey  City, 
was  announced.  I  told  Mary  to  wait  till  I  found 
whether  she  had  lunched  or  not  ;  no,  she  hadn't ; 
had  come  to  town  to  see  friends  off,  was  half  fam- 
ished, and  would  I  do  her  the  favor,  etc.,  etc.  She 
had  a  fashionable  young  lady  with  her,  a  stranger 
to  me,  as  well  as  a  Miss  Somebody  else,  from  Al- 
bany, whose  name  I  did  not  catch.  I  apologized  for 
having  finished  lunch.  Mrs.  Fry  said  all  they  wanted 
was  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  bit  of  bread  and  butter, 
nothing  else,  dear  ;  now  don't  put  yourself  out. 

"  Now  be  bright  and  animated,  and  like  yourself," 
she  whispered,  "for  I  have  brought  these  girls  here 
on  purpose  to  hear  you  talk,  and  they  are  prepared 
to  fall  in  love  with  you  on  the  spot." 

This  speech  sufficed  to  shut  my  mouth. 

Mary  had  to  get  ready  for  these  unexpected 
guests,  whose  appetites  proved  equal  to  a  raid  on  a 
good  many  things  besides  bread  and  butter.  Mrs. 
Fry  said,  after  she  had  devoured  nearly  half  a  loaf 
of  cake,  that  she  would  really  try  to  eat  a  morsel 
more,  which  Ernest  remarked,,  drily,  was  a  great 
triumph  of  mind  over  matter.  As  they  talked  and 
laughed  and  ate  leisurely  on,  Mary  stood  looking 
the  picture  of  despair.  At  last  I  gave  her  a  glance 
that  said  she  might  go,  when  a  new  visitor  was  an- 
nounced— Mrs.  Winthrop,  from  Brooklyn,  one  of 
Ernest's  patients  a  few  years  ago,  when  she  lived 
here.  She  professed  herself  greatly  indebted  to 
him,  and  said  she  had  come  at  this  hour  because  she 
should  make  sure  of  seeing  him.     I  tried  to  excuse 


3i6  Stepping  Heavenward 

him,  as  I  knew  he  would  be  thankful  to  have  me  do, 
but  no,  see  him  she  must ;  he  was  her  "  pet  doctor," 
he  had  such  "sweet,  bedside  manners,"  and  "  I  am 
such  a  favorite  with  him,  you  know  !" 

Ernest  did  not  receive  his  *'  favorite  "  with  any 
special  warmth  ;  but  invited  her  out  to  lunch  and 
gallanted  her  to  the  table  we  had  just  left.  Just 
like  a  man  !  Poor  Mary  !  she  had  to  fly  round  and 
get  up  what  she  could  ;  Mrs.  Winthrop  devoted  her- 
self to  Ernest  with  a  persistent  ignoring  of  me  that 
I  thought  rude  and  unwomanly.  She  asked  if  he 
had  read  a  certain  book  ;  he  had  not ;  she  then  said, 
''  I  need  not  ask,  then,  if  Mrs.  Elliott  has  done  so  ? 
These  charming  dishes,  which  she  gets  up  so  nicely, 
must  absorb  all  her  time."  "  Of  course,"  replied 
Ernest.  "  But  she  contrives  to  read  the  reports  of 
all  the  murders,  of  which  the  newspapers  are  full." 

Mrs.  Winthrop  took  this  speech  literally,  drew 
away  her  skirts  from  me,  looked  at  me  through  her 
eye-glass,  and  said,  "Yes?"  At  last  she  departed. 
Helen  came  home,  and  Mary  went.  I  gave  Helen, 
an  account  of  my  morning  ;  she  laughed  heartily, 
and  it  did  me  good  to  hear  that  musical  sound  once 
more. 

"  It  is  nearly  five  o'clock,"  I  said,  as  we  at  last 
had  restored  everything  to  order,  "  and  this  whole 
day  has  been  frittered  away  in  the  veriest  trifles. 
It  isn't  living  to  live  so.  Who  is  the  better  for  my 
being  in  the  world  since  six  o'clock  this  morning  ?" 

"  I  am  for  one,"  she  said,  kissing  my  hot  cheeks  ; 
"and  you  have  given  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  to 
several  persons,     Your  and  Ernest's   hospitality  is 


Stepping  Heavenward  3 1  7 

always  graceful.  I  admire  it  in  you  both  ;  and  this  is 
one  of  the  little  ways,  not  to  be  despised,  of  giving 
real  enjoyment."  It  was  nice  in  her  to  say  that ;  it 
quite  rested  me. 

At  the  dinner-table  Ernest  complimented  me  on 
my  good  housekeeping. 

"  I  was  proud  of  my  little  wife  at  lunch,"  he  said. 

"  And  yet  you  said  that  outrageous  thing  about 
my  reading  about  nothing  but  murders  !"  I  said. 

"Oh,  well,  you  understood  it,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ingly. 

"But  that  dreadful  Mrs.  Winthrop  took  it  lit- 
erally." 

"What  do  we  care  for  Mrs.  Winthrop  ?"  he  re- 
turned. '^  If  you  could  have  seen  the  contrast  be- 
tw^een  you  two  in  my  eyes  !" 

After  all,  one  must  take  life  as  it  comes  ;  its 
homely  details  are  so  mixed  up  with  its  sweet 
charities,  and  loves,  and  friendships  that  one  is 
forced  to  believe  that  God  has  joined  them  together, 
and  does  not  will  that  they  should  be  put  asunder. 
It  is  something  that  my  husband  has  been  satisfied 
with  his  wife  and  his  home  to-day ;  that  does  me 
good. 

March  30. — A  stormy  day  and  the  children  home 
from  school,  and  no  little  frolicking  and  laughing 
going  on.  It  must  be  delightful  to  feel  well  and 
strong  while  one's  children  are  young,  there  is  so 
much  to  do  for  them.  /  do  it ;  but  no  one  can  tell 
the  effort  it  costs  me.  What  a  contrast  there  is 
between  their  vitality  and  the  languor  under  which 


3i8  Stepping  Heavenward 

I  suffer  !  When  their  noise  became  intolerable,  I 
proposed  to  read  to  them  ;  of  course  they  made  ten 
times  as  much  clamor  of  pleasure  and  of  course  they 
leaned  on  me,  ground  their  elbows  into  my  lap,  and 
tired  me  all  out.  As  I  sat  with  this  precious  little 
group  about  me,  Ernest  opened  the  door,  looked  in, 
gravely  and  without  a  word,  and  instantly  disap- 
peared. 1  felt  uneasy  and  asked  him,  this  evening, 
why  he  looked  so.  Was  I  indulging  the  children 
too  much,  or  what  was  it  ?  He  took  me  into  his 
arms  and  said  : 

"  My  precious  wife,  why  will  you  torment  your- 
self with  such  fancies  ?  My  very  heart  was  yearn- 
ing over  you  at  that  moment,  as  it  did  the  first  time 
1  saw  you  surrounded  by  your  little  class  at  Sun- 
day-school, years  ago,  and  I  was  asking  myself  why 
God  had  given  me  such  a  wife,  and  my  children 
such  a  mother/' 

Oh,  I  am  glad  I  have  got  this  written  down  !  I 
will  read  it  over  when  the  sense  of  my  deficiencies 
overwhelms  me,  while  I  ask  God  why  He  has  given 
me  such  a  patient,  forbearing  husband. 

April  t. — This  has  been  a  sad  day  to  our  church. 
Our  dear  Dr.  Cabot  has  gone  to  his  eternal  home, 
and  left  us  as  sheep  without  a  shepherd. 

His  death  was  sudden  at  the  last,  and  found  us 
all  unprepared  for  it.  But  my  tears  of  soitow  are 
mingled  with  tears  of  joy.  His  heart  had  long  been 
in  heaven,  he  was  ready  to  go  at  a  moment's  warn- 
ing ;  never  was  a  soul  so  constantly  and  joyously 
on  the  wing  as  his.     Poor  Mrs.  Cabot  !     She  is  left 


Stepping  Heavenward  319 

very  desolate,  for  all  their  children  are  married  and 
settled  at  a  distance.  But  she  bears  this  sorrow  like 
one  who  has  long  felt  herself  a  pilgrim  and  a 
stranger  on  earth.  How  strange  that  we  ever  for- 
get that  we  are  all  such  ! 

April  16. — The  desolate  pilgrimage  was  not  long. 
Dear  Mrs.  Cabot  was  this  day  laid  away  by  the  side 
of  her  beloved  husband,  and  it  is  delightful  to  think 
of  them  as  not  divided  by  death,  but  united  by  it  in 
a  complete  and  eternal  union. 

I  never  saw  a  husband  and  wife  more  tenderly  at- 
tached to  each  other,  and  this  is  a  beautiful  close  to 
their  long  and  happy  married  life.  I  find  it  hard  not 
to  wish  and  pray  that  I  may  as  speedily  follow  my 
precious  husband,  should  God  call  him  away  first. 
But  it  is  not  for  me  to  choose. 

How  I  shall  miss  these  faithful  friends,  who,  from 
my  youth  up,  have  been  my  stay  and  my  staff  in  the 
house  of  my  pilgrimage !  Almost  all  the  disap- 
pointments and  sorrows  of  my  life  have  had  their 
Christian  sympathy,  particularly  the  daily,  wasting 
solicitude  concerning  my  darling  Una,  for  they  too 
watched  for  years  over  as  delicate  a  flower,  and 
saw  it  fade  and  die.  Only  those  who  have  suffered 
thus  can  appreciate  the  heart-soreness  through 
which,  no  matter  how  outwardly  cheerful  I  may  be> 
I  am  always  passing.  But  what  then  !  Have  I  not 
ten  thousand  times  made  this  my  prayer,  that  in  the 
words  of  Leighton,  my  will  might  become  identical 
with  God's  will." 

And  shall  He  not  take  me  at  my  word  ?     Just  as  I 


320  Stepping  Heavenward 

was  writing  these  words,  my  canary  burst  forth 
with  a  song  so  joyous  that  a  song  was  put  also  into 
my  mouth.  Something  seemed  to  say,  this  captive 
sings  in  his  cage  because  it  has  never  known  liberty, 
and  cannot  regret  a  lost  freedom.  So  the  soul  of 
my  child,  limited  by  the  restrictions  of  a  feeble 
body,  never  having  knov/n  the  gladness  of  exuber- 
ant health,  may  sing  songs  that  will  enliven  and 
cheer.  Yes,  and  does  sing  them  !  What  should  we 
do  without  her  gentle,  loving  presence,  whose 
frailty  calls  forth  our  tenderest  affections  and  whose 
sweet  face  makes  sunshine  in  the  shadiest  places  ! 
I  am  sure  that  the  boys  are  truly  blessed  by  having 
a  sister  always  at  home  to  welcome  them,  and  that 
their  best  manliness  is  appealed  to  by  her  helpless- 
ness. 

What  this  child  is  to  me  I  cannot  tell.  And  yet, 
if  the  skillful  and  kind  Gardener  should  house  this 
delicate  plant  before  frosts  come,  should  I  dare  to 
complain  ? 


"  What  this  child  is  to  me  I  cannot  tell.' 


XXV. 

May  4. 

Miss  Clifford  came  to  lunch  with  us  on  Wednes- 
day. Her  remarkable  restoration  to  health  has  at- 
tracted a  good  deal  of  attention,  and  has  given 
Ernest  a  certain  reputation  which  does  not  come 
amiss  to  him.  Not  that  he  is  ambitious  ;  a  more  un- 
worldly man  does  not  live  ;  but  his  extreme  reserve 
and  modesty  have  obscured  the  light  that  is  now 
beginning  to  shine.  We  all  enjoyed  Miss  Clifford's 
visit.  She  is  one  of  the  freshest,  most  original 
creatures  I  ever  met  with,  and  kept  us  all  laughing 
with  her  quaint  speeches,  long  after  every  particle 
of  lunch  had  disappeared  from  the  table.  But  this 
mobile  nature  turns  to  the  serious  side  of  life  with 
marvelous  ease  and  celerity,  as  perhaps  all  sound 
ones  ought  to  do.  I  took  her  up  to  my  room  where 
my  work-basket  was,  and  Helen  followed,  with  hers. 

"  I  have  brought  something  to  read  to  you,  dear 
Mrs.  Elliott,"  Miss  Clifford  began,  the  moment  we 
had  seated  ourselves,  "which  I  have  just  lighted  on, 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  like.  A  nobleman  writes  to 
Fenelon  asking  certain  questions,  and  a  part  of 
these  questions,  with  the  replies,  I  want  to  enjoy 
with  you,  as  they  cover  a  good  deal  of  the  ground 
we  have  often  discussed  together": 

(321) 


322  Stepping  Heavenward 

'*I. — How  shall  I  offer  my  purely  indifferent  ac- 
tions to  God  ;  walks,  visits  made  and  received,  dress, 
little  proprieties,  such  as  washing  the  hands,  etc.,  the 
reading  of  books  of  history,  business  with  which  I 
am  charged  for  my  friends,  other  amusements,  such 
as  shopping,  having  clothes  made,  and  equipages.  I 
want  to  have  some  sort  of  prayer,  or  method  of  of- 
fering each  of  these  things  to  God. 

"Reply. — The  most  indifferent  actions  cease  to 
be  such,  and  become  good  as  soon  as  one  performs 
theni  with  the  intention  of  conforming  one's  self  in 
them  to  the  will  of  God.  They  are  often  better 
and  purer  than  certain  actions  which  appear  more 
virtuous  :  ist,  because  they  are  less  of  our  own 
choice  and  more  in  the  order  of  Providence  when 
one  is  obliged  to  perform  them  ;  2d,  because  they 
are  simpler  and  less  exposed  to  vain  complaisance  ; 
3d,  because  if  one  yields  to  them  with  moderation, 
one  finds  in  them  more  of  death  to  one's  inclina- 
tions than  in  certain  acts  of  fervor  in  which  self-love 
mingles  ;  finally,  because  these  little  occasions  occur 
more  frequently,  and  furnish  a  secret  occasion  for 
continually  making  every  moment  profitable. 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  make  great  efforts  nor  acts 
of  great  reflection,  in  order  to  ofi^er  what  are  called 
indifferent  actions.  It  is  enough  to  lift  the  soul  one 
instant  to  God,  to  make  a  simple  offering  of  it. 
Everything  which  God  wishes  us  to  do,  and  which 
enters  into  the  course  of  occupation  suitable  to  our 
position,  can  and  ought  to  be  offered  to  God  ;  noth- 
ing is  unworthy  of  Him  but  sin.  When  you  feel 
that  an  action  cannot  be  offered  to  God,  conclude 


Stepping  Heavenward  323 

that  it  does  not  become  a  Christian  ;  it  is  at  least 
necessary  to  suspect  it,  and  seek  light  concerning  it. 
I  would  not  have  a  special  prayer  for  each  of  these 
things,  the  elevation  of  the  heart  at  the  moment 
suffices. 

"  As  for  visits,  commissions  and  the  like,  as  there 
is  danger  of  following  one's  own  taste  too  much,  I 
would  add  to  this  elevating  of  the  heart  a  prayer  for 
grace  to  moderate  myself  and  use  precaution. 

"  II. — In  prayer  I  cannot  fix  m.y  mind,  or  I  have 
intervals  of  time  when  it  is  elsewhere,  and  it  is  often 
distracted  for  a  long  time  before  I  perceive  it.  I 
want  to  find  some  means  of  becoming  its  master. 

"  Reply. — Fidelity  in  following  the  rules  that  have 
been  given  you,  and  in  recalling  your  mind  every 
time  you  perceive  its  distraction,  will  gradually  give 
you  the  grace  of  being  more  recollected.  Mean- 
while bear  your  involuntary  distractions  with  pa- 
tience and  humility  ;  you  deserve  nothing  better.  Is 
it  surprising  that  recollection  is  difficult  to  a  man  so 
long  dissipated  and  far  from  God  ? 

"III.— I  wish  to  know  if  it  is  best  to  record,  on 
my  tablets,  the  faults  and  the  sins  I  have  committed, 
in  order  not  to  run  the  risk  of  forgetting  them.  I 
excite  in  myself  to  repentance  for  my  faults  as  much 
as  I  can  ;  but  I  have  never  felt  any  real  grief  on  ac- 
count of  them.  When  I  examine  myself  at  night,  I 
see  persons  far  more  perfect  than  I  complain  of 
more  sin  ;  as  for  me,  I  seek,  I  find  nothing  ;  and  yet 
it  is  impossible  there  should  not  be  many  points  on 
which  to  implore  pardon  every  day  of  my  life. 


324  Stepping  Heavenward 

"  Reply. — You  should  examine  yourself  every 
night,  but  simply  and  briefly.  In  the  disposition  to 
which  God  has  brought  you,  you  will  not  volunta- 
rily commit  any  considerable  fault  without  remem- 
bering  and  reproaching  yourself  for  it.  As  to  little 
faults,  scarcely  perceived,  even  if  you  sometimes 
forget  them,  this  need  not  make  you  uneasy. 

"  As  to  lively  grief  on  account  of  your  sins,  it  is 
not  necessary.  God  gives  it  when  it  pleases  Him. 
True  and  essential  conversion  of  the  heart  consists 
in  a  full  will  to  sacrifice  all  to  God.  What  I  call 
full  will  is  a  fixed  immovable  disposition  of  the  will 
to  resume  none  of  the  voluntary  affections  which 
may  alter  the  purity  of  the  love  to  God  and  to  aban- 
don itself  to  all  the  crosses  which  it  will  perhaps  be 
necessary  to  bear,  in  order  to  accomplish  the  will  of 
God  always  and  in  all  things.  As  to  sorrow  for  sin, 
when  one  has  it,  one  ought  to  return  thanks  for  it ; 
when  one  perceives  it  to  be  wanting,  one  should 
humble  one's  self  peacefully  before  God  without 
trying  to  excite  it  by  vain  efforts. 

"  You  find  in  your  self-examination  fewer  faults 
than  persons  more  advanced  and  more  perfect  do  ; 
it  is  because  your  interior  light  is  still  feeble.  It 
will  increase,  and  the  view  of  your  infidelities  will 
increase  in  proportion.  It  sufiices,  without  making 
yourself  uneasy,  to  try  to  be  faithful  to  the  degree 
of  light  you  possess,  and  to  instruct  yourself  by 
reading  and  meditation.  It  will  not  do  to  try  to 
forestall  the  grace  that  belongs  to  a  more  advanced 
period.  It  would  only  serve  to  trouble  and  dis- 
courage you,  and  even  to  exhaust  you  by  continual 


Stepping  Heavenward  325 

anxiety  ;  the  time  that  should  be  spent  in  loving 
God  would  be  given  to  forced  returns  upon  your- 
self, which  secretly  nourish  self-love. 

''  IV. — In  my  prayers  my  mind  has  difficulty  in 
finding  anything  to  say  to  God.  My  heart  is  not  in 
it,  or  it  is  inaccessible  to  the  thoughts  of  my  mind. 

"  Reply. — It  is  not  necessary  to  say  much  to  God. 
Oftentimes  one  does  not  speak  much  to  a  friend 
whom  one  is  delighted  to  see  ;  one  looks  at  him 
with  pleasure  ;  one  speaks  certain  short  words  to 
him  which  are  mere  expressions  of  feeling.  The 
mind  has  no  part  in  them,  or  next  to  none  ;  one 
keeps  repeating  the  same  words.  It  is  not  so  much 
a  variety  of  thoughts  that  one  seeks  in  intercourse 
with  a  friend,  as  a  certain  repose  and  correspondence 
of  heart.  It  is  thus  we  are  with  God,  who  does  not 
disdain  to  be  our  tenderest,  most  cordial,  most  famil- 
iar, most  intimate  friend.  A  word,  a  sigh,  a  senti- 
ment, says  all  to  God  ;  it  is  not  always  necessary  to 
have  transports  of  sensible  tenderness  ;  a  will  all 
naked  and  dry,  without  life,  without  vivacity,  with- 
out pleasure,  is  often  purest  in  the  sight  of  God.  In 
fine,  it  is  necessary  to  content  one's  self  with  giving 
to  Him  what  He  gives  it  to  give,  a  fervent  heart 
when  it  is  fervent,  a  heart  firm  and  faithful  in  its 
aridity,  when  He  deprives  it  of  sensible  fervor.  It 
does  not  always  depend  on  you  to  feel  ;  but  it  is 
necessary  to  wish  to  feel.  Leave  it  to  God  to  choose 
to  make  you  feel  sometimes,  in  order  to  sustain  your 
weakness  and  infancy  in  Christian  life  ;  sometimes 
weaning  you  from  that  sweet  and  consoling  senti- 


326  Stepping  Heavenward 

ment  which  is  the  milk  of  babes,  in  order  to  hum- 
ble you,  to  make  you  grow,  and  to  make  you  robust 
in  the  violent  exercise  of  faith,  by  causing  you  to 
eat  the  bread  of  the  strong  in  the  sweat  of  your 
brow.  Would  you  only  love  God  according  as  He 
will  make  you  take  pleasure  in  loving  Him  ?  You 
would  be  loving  your  own  tenderness  and  feeling, 
fancying  that  you  were  loving  God.  Even  while 
receiving  sensible  gifts,  prepare  yourself  by  pure 
faith  for  the  time  when  you  might  be  deprived  of 
them  ;  and  you  will  suddenly  succumb  if  you  had 
only  relied  on  such  support. 

**  I  forgot  to  speak  of  some  practices  which  may,  at 
the  beginning,  facilitate  the  remembrance  of  the 
offering  one  ought  to  make  to  God,  of  all  the  ordi- 
nary acts  of  the  day. 

"  I.  Form  the  resolution  to  do  so,  every  morning, 
and  call  yourself  to  account  in  your  self-examina- 
tion at  night. 

"  2.  Make  no  resolutions  but  for  good  reasons,  either 
from  propriety  or  the  necessity  of  relaxing  the  mind, 
etc.  Thus,  in  accustoming  one's  self  to  retrench 
the  useless  little  by  little,  one  accustoms  one's  self 
to  offer  what  is  not  proper  to  curtail. 

"3.  Renew  one's  self  in  this  disposition  whenever 
one  is  alone,  in  order  to  be  better  prepared  to  recol- 
lect it  when  in  company. 

"4.  Whenever  one  surprises  one's  self  in  too  great 
dissipation,  or  in  speaking  too  freely  of  his  neigh- 
bor, let  hirn  collect  himself  and  offer  to  God  all  the 
rest  of  the  conversation. 

"  5.  To  flee,  with  confidence,  to  God,  to  act  accord- 


Stepping  Heavenward  327 

ing  to  His  will,  when  one  enters  company,  or  en- 
gages in  some  occupation  which  may  cause  one  to 
fall  into  temptation.  The  sight  of  danger  ought  to 
warn  of  the  need  there  is  to  lift  the  heart  toward 
Him  by  one  who  may  be  preserved  from  it." 


We  both  thanked  her  as  she  finished  reading, 
and  I  begged  her  to  lend  me  the  volume  that  I 
might  make  the  above  copy. 

I  hope  I  have  gained  some  valuable  hints  from 
this  letter,  and  that  I  shall  see  more  plainly  than 
ever  that  it  is  a  religion  of  principle  that  God  wants 
from  us,  not  one  of  mere  feeling. 

Helen  remarked  that  she  was  most  struck  by  the 
assertion  that  one  cannot  forestall  the  graces  that 
belong  to  a  more  advanced  period.  She  said  she 
had  assumed  that  she  ought  to  experience  all  that 
the  most  mature  Christian  did,  and  that  it  rested 
her  to  think  of  God  as  doing  this  work  for  her, 
making  repentance,  for  instance,  a  free  gift,  not  a 
conquest  to  be  won  for  one's  self. 

Miss  Cliiford  said  that  the  whole  idea  of  giving 
one's  self  to  God  in  such  little  daily  acts  as  visiting, 
shopping,  and  the  like,  was  entirely  new  to  her. 

"But  fancy,"  she  went  on,  her  beautiful  face 
lighted  up  with  enthusiasm,  "  what  a  blessed  life 
that  must  be,  when  the  base  things  of  this  world, 
and  things  that  are  despised,  are  so  many  links  to 
the  invisible  world,  and  to  the  things  God  has 
chosen  ! " 

"In  other  words,"  I  said,  "the  top  of  the  ladder 


328  Stepping  Heavenward 

that  rests  on  earth  reaches  to  heaven,  and  we  may 
ascend  it  as  the  angels  did  in  Jacob's  dream." 

"  And   descend  too,  as  they  did,"  Helen    put   in, 
despondently. 

"  Now  you  shall  not  speak  in  that  tone,"  cried 
Miss  Clifford.  "  Let  us  look  at  the  bright  side  of 
life,  and  believe  that  God  means  us  to  be  always 
ascending,  always  getting  nearer  to  Himself,  al- 
ways learning  something  new  about  Him,  always 
loving  Him  better  and  better.  To  be  sure,  our  souls 
are  sick,  and  of  themselves  can't  keep  ^  ever  on  the 
wing,'  but  I  have  had  some  delightful  thoughts  of 
late  from  just  hearing  the  title  of  a  book,  ^  God's 
method  with  the  maladies  of  the  soul.'  It  gives  one 
such  a  conception  of  the  seeming  ills  of  life  ;  to 
think  of  Him  as  our  Physician,  the  ills  all  remedieSy 
the  deprivations  only  a  wholesome  regimen,  the  » 
losses  all  gains.  Why,  as  I  study  this  individual 
case,  and  that,  see  how  patiently  and  persistently 
He  tries  now  this  remedy,  now  that,  and  how  infalli- 
bly He  cures  the  souls  that  submit  to  His  remedies, 
I  love  Him  so  !  I  love  Him  so  !  And  I  am  so  aston- 
ished that  we  are  restive  under  His  unerring  hand  ! 
Think  how  He  dealt  with  me.  My  soul  was  sick 
unto  death,  sick  with  worldliness,  and  self-pleasing 
and  folly.  There  was  only  one  way  of  making  me 
listen  to  reason,  and  that  was  just  the  way  He  took. 
He  snatched  me  right  out  of  the  world  and  shut  me 
up  in  one  room,  crippled,  helpless,  and  alone,  and 
set  me  to  thinking,  thinking,  thinking,  till  I  saw  the 
emptiness  and  shallowness  of  all  in  which  I  had 
hitherto  been  involved.     And  then  He  sent  you  and 


Stepping  Heavenward  329 

your  mother  to  show  me  the  reality  of  life,  and  to 
reveal  to  me  my  invisible,  unknown  Physician.  Can 
I  love  Him  with  half  my  heart  ?  Can  I  be  asking 
questions  as  to  how  much  I  am  to  pay  towards  the 
debt  I  owe  Him  ?" 

By  this  time  Helen's  work  had  fallen  from  her 
hands  and  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 

"  How  1  thank  you,"  she  said  softly,  "  for  what 
you  have  said.  You  have  interpreted  life  to  me  ! 
You  have  given  me  a  new  conception  of  my  God 
and  Saviour  !" 

Miss  Clifford  seemed  quenched  and  humbled  by 
these  words  ;  her  enthusiasm  faded  away  and  she 
looked  at  Helen  with  a  deprecatory  air  as  she  re- 
plied : 

"  Don't  say  that !  I  never  felt  so  unfit  for  any- 
thing but  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  Christ's  disciples  and 
learn  of  them." 

Yet  I,  so  many  years  one  of  those  disciples,  had 
been  sitting  at  her  feet,  and  had  learned  of  her. 
Never  had  I  so  realized  the  magnitude  of  the  work 
to  be  done  in  this  world,  nor  the  power  and  good- 
ness of  Him  who  has  undertaken  to  do  it  all.  I 
was  glad  to  be  alone,  to  walk  my  room  singing 
praises  to  Him  for  every  instance  in  which,  as  my 
Physician,  He  had  "disappointed  my- hope  and  de- 
feated my  joy,"  and  given  me  to  drink  of  the  cup  of 
sorrow  and  bereavement. 

May  24. — I  read  to  Ernest  the  extract  from  Fene- 
lon  which  has  made  such  an  impression  on  me. 
"  Every  business  man,  in  short  every  man  leading 


330  Stepping  Heavenward 

an  active  life,  ought  to  read  that,"  he  said.  "We 
should  have  a  new  order  of  things  as  the  result. 
Instead  of  fancying  that  our  ordinary  daily  work 
was  one  thing  and  our  religion  quite  another  thing, 
we  should  transmute  our  drudgery  into  acts  of  wor- 
ship. Instead  of  going  to  prayer-meetings  to  get 
into  a  *good  frame/  we  should  live  in  a  good  frame 
from  morning  till  night,  from  night  till  morning, 
and  prayer  and  praise  would  be  only  another  form 
for  expressing  the  love  and  faith  and  obedience  we 
had  been  exercising  amid  the  pressure  of  business/' 

"I  only  wish  I  had  understood  this  years  ago,"  I 
said.  *^  I  have  made  prayer  too  much  of  a  luxury, 
and  have  often  inwardly  chafed  and  fretted  when 
the  care  of  my  children,  at  times,  made  it  utterly 
impossible  to  leave  them  for  private  devotion — when 
they  have  been  sick,  for  instance,  or  in  other  like 
emergencies.  I  reasoned  this  way :  *  Here  is  a 
special  demand  on  my  patience,  and  I  am  naturally 
impatient.  I  must  have  time  to  go  away  and  en- 
treat the  Lord  to  equip  me  for  this  conflict.'  But  I 
see  now  that  the  simple  act  of  cheerful  acceptance 
of  the  duty  imposed  and  the  solace  and  support 
withdrawn  would  have  united  me  more  fully  to 
Christ  than  the  highest  enjoyment  of  His  presence 
in  prayer  could." 

"Yes,  every  act  of  obedience  is  an  act  of  wor- 
ship," he  said. 

"But  why  don't  we  learn  that  sooner?  Why  do 
we  waste  our  lives  before  we  learn  how  to  live  ?" 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  he  returned,  "  that  we  do  not 
learn  as  fast  as  we  are  willing  to  learn.     God  does 


Stepping  Heavenward  331 

not  force  instruction  upon  us,  but  when  we  say,  as 
Luther  did,  *  More  light,  Lord,  more  light,'  the  light 
comes." 

I  questioned  myself  after  he  had  gone  as  to 
whether  this  could  be  true  of  me.  Is  there  not  in 
my  heart  some  secret  reluctance  to  know  the  truth, 
lest  that  knowledge  should  call  to  a  higher  and  a 
holier  life  than  I  have  yet  lived  ? 

June  2. — I  went  to  see  Mrs.  Campbell  a  few  days 
ago,  and  found,  to  my  great  joy,  that  Helen  had 
just  been  there,  and  that  they  had  had  a  long  and 
earnest  conversation  together.  Mrs.  Campbell  has 
failed  a  good  deal  of  late,  and  it  is  not  probable  that 
we  shall  have  her  with  us  much  longer.  Her  every 
look  and  word  is  precious  to  me  when  I  think  of  her 
as  one  who  is  so  soon  to  enter  the  unseen  world, 
and  see  our  Saviour,  and  be  welcomed  home  by 
Him.  If  it  is  so  delightful  to  be  with  those  who  are 
on  the  way  to  heaven,  what  would  it  be  to  have  fel- 
lowship with  one  who  had  come  thence,  and  could 
tell  us  what  it  is  ! 

She  spoke  freely  about  death,  and  said  Ernest  had 
promised  to  take  charge  of  her  funeral,  and  to  see 
that  she  was  buried  by  the  side  of  her  husband. 

"You  see,  my  dear,"  she  added,  with  a  smile, 
"  though  I  am  expecting  to  be  so  soon  a  saint  in 
heaven,  I  am  a  human  being  still,  with  human  weak- 
nesses. What  can  it  really  matter  where  this  weary 
old  body  is  laid  away,  when  I  have  done  with  it, 
and  gone  and  left  it  forever  ?  And  yet  I  am  leaving 
directions  about  its  disposal  !" 


332  Stepping  Heavenward 

I  said  I  was  glad  that  she  was  still  human,  but 
that  I  did  not  think  it  a  weakness  to  take  thought 
for  the  abode  in  which  her  soul  had  dwelt  so  long. 
I  saw  that  she  was  tired  and  was  coming  away,  but 
she  held  me  and  would  not  let  me  go. 

"Yes,  I  am  tired,"  she  said,  "but  what  of  that? 
It  is  only  a  question  of  days  now,  and  all  my  tired 
feelings  will  be  over.  Then  I  shall  be  as  young  and 
as  fresh  as  ever,  and  shall  have  strength  to  praise 
and  to  love  God  as  I  cannot  do  now.  But  before  I 
go  I  want  once  more  to  tell  you  how  good  He  is, 
how  blessed  it  is  to  suffer  with  Him,  how  infinitely 
happy  He  has  made  me  in  the  very  hottest  heat  of 
the  furnace.  It  will  strengthen  you  in  your  trials 
to  recall  this  my  dying  testimony.  There  is  no  wil- 
derness so  dreary  but  that  His  love  can  illuminate 
it ;  no  desolation  so  desolate  but  that  He  can  sweeten 
it.  I  know  what  I  am  saying.  It  is  no  delusion.  I 
believe  that  the  highest,  purest  happiness  is  known 
only  to  those  who  have  learned  Christ  in  sick-rooms, 
in  poverty,  in  racking  suspense  and  anxiety,  amid 
hardships,  and  at  the  open  grave." 

Yes,  the  radiant  face,  worn  by  sickness  and  suffer- 
ing, but  radiant  still,  said  in  language  yet  more  un- 
speakably impressive, 

"  To  learn  Christ,  this  is  life  !" 

I  came  into  the  busy  and  noisy  streets  as  one  de- 
scending from  the  mount,  and  on  reaching  home 
found  my  darling  Una  very  ill  in  Ernest's  arms. 
She  had  fallen,  and  injured  her  head.  How  I  had 
prayed  that  God  would  temper  the  wind  to  this 
shorn  lamb,  and   now  she  bad  had  such  a  fall !     We 


Stepping  Heavenward  333 

watched  over  her  till  far  into  the  night,  scarcely 
speaking  to  each  other,  but  I  know  by  the  way  in 
which  Ernest  held  my  hand  clasped  in  his  that  her 
precious  life  was  in  danger.  He  consented  at  last 
to  lie  down,  but  Helen  stayed  with  me.  What  a 
night  it  was  !  God  only  knows  what  the  human 
heart  can  experience  in  a  space  of  time  that  men 
call  hours.  I  went  over  all  the  past  history  of  the 
child,  recalling  all  her  sweet  looks  and  words,  and 
my  own  secret  repining  at  the  delicate  health  that 
has  cut  her  off  from  so  many  of  the  pleasures  that 
belong  to  her  age.  And  the  more  I  thought,  the 
more  I  clung  to  her,  on  whom,  frail  as  she  is,  I  was 
beginning  to  lean,  and  whose  influence  in  our  home 
I  could  not  think  of  losing  without  a  shudder. 
Alas,  my  faith  seemed,  for  a  time,  to  flee,  and  I  could 
see  just  what  a  poor,  weak  human  being  is  without 
it.  But  before  daylight  crept  into  my  room  light 
from  on  high  streamed  in  my  heart,  and  I  gave 
even  this,  my  ewe-lamb,  away,  as  my  free-will  offer- 
ing to  God.  Could  I  refuse  Him  my  child  because 
she  was  the  very  apple  of  my  eye  ?  Nay  then,  but 
let  me  give  to  Him,  not  what  I  value  least,  but 
what  I  prize  and  delight  in  most.  Could  I  not  en- 
dure heart-sickness  for  Him  who  had  given  His 
only  Son  for  me  !  And  just  as  I  got  to  that  sweet 
consent  to  suffer.  He  who  had  only  lifted  the  rod  to 
try  my  faith  laid  it  down.  My  darling  opened  her 
eyes  and  looked  at  us  intelligently,  and  with  her 
own  loving  smile.  But  I  dared  not  snatch  her  and 
press  her  to  my  heart ;  for  her  sake  I  must  be  out- 
wardly calm  at  least. 


334  Stepping  Heavenward 

June  6. — I  am  at  home  with  my  precious  Una,  all 
the  rest  having  gone  to  church.  She  lies  peacefully 
on  the  bed,  sadly  disfigured,  for  the  time,  but 
Ernest  says  he  apprehends  no  danger  now,  and  we 
are  a  most  happy,  a  most  thankful  household.  The 
children  have  all  been  greatly  moved  by  the  events 
of  the  last  few  days,  and  hover  about  their  sister 
with  great  sympathy  and  tenderness.  Where  she 
fell  from,  or  how  she  fell,  no  one  knows  ;  she  re- 
members nothing  about  it  herself,  and  it  will  always 
remain  a  mystery. 

This  is  the  second  time  that  this  beloved  child 
has  been  returned  to  us  after  we  had  given  her 
away  to  God. 

And  as  the  giving  cost  us  ten-fold  more  now  than 
it  did  when  she  was  a  feeble  baby,  so  we  receive  her 
now  as  a  fresh  gift  from  our  loving  Father's  hand, 
with  ten-fold  delight.  Ah,  we  have  no  excuse  for 
not  giving  ourselves  entirely  to  Him.  He  has  re- 
vealed Himself  to  us  in  so  many  sorrows,  and  in  so 
many  joys  ;  revealed  Himself  as  He  doth  not  unto 
the  world  ! 


XXVI. 

May  13. 

This  has  been  a  Sunday  to  be  held  in  long  re- 
membrance. We  were  summoned  early  this  morn- 
ing to  Mrs.  Campbell,  and  have  seen  her  joyful 
release  from  the  fetters  that  have  bound  her  so 
long.  Her  loss  to  me  is  irreparable.  But  I  can 
truly  thank  God  that  one  more  "  tired  traveler  "  has 
had  a  sweet  "  welcome  home."  I  can  minister  no 
longer  to  her  bodily  wants,  and  listen  to  her  coun- 
sels no  more,  but  she  has  entered  as  an  inspiration 
into  my  life,  and  through  all  eternity  I  shall  bless 
God  that  He  gave  me  that  faithful,  praying  friend. 
How  little  they  know  who  languish  in  what  seem 
useless  sick-rooms,  or  amid  the  restrictions  of  frail 
health,  what  work  they  do  for  Christ  by  the  power 
of  saintly  living,  and  by  even  fragmentary  prayers. 

Before  her  words  fade  out  of  my  memory  I  want 
to  write  down,  from  hasty  notes  made  at  the  time, 
her  answer  to  some  of  the  last  questions  I  asked 
her  on  earth.  She  had  always  enjoyed  intervals  of 
comparative  ease,  and  it  was  in  one  of  these  that  I 
asked  her  what  she  conceived  to  be  the  characteris- 
tics of  an  advanced  state  of  grace.  She  replied,  "I 
think  that  the  mature  Christian  is  always,  at  all 
times,  and  in  all  circumstances,  what  he  was  in  his 
best  moments  in  the  progressive  stages  of  his  life. 

(335) 


336  Stepping  Heavenward 

There  were  seasons,  all  along  his  course,  when  he 
loved  God  supremely  ;  when  he  embraced  the  cross 
joyfully  and  penitently  ;  when  he  held  intimate  com- 
munion with  Christ,  and  loved  his  neighbor  as  him- 
self. But  he  was  always  in  terror,  lest  under  the 
force  of  temptation,  all  this  should  give  place  to 
deadness  and  dullness,  when  he  should  chafe  and 
rebel  in  the  hour  of  trial,  and  judge  his  fellow-man 
with  a  harsh  and  bitter  judgment,  and  give  way  to 
angry,  passionate  emotions.  But  these  fluctuations 
cease,  after  a  time,  to  disturb  his  peace.  Love  to 
Christ  becomes  the  abiding,  inmost  principle  of  his 
life  ;  he  loves  Him  rather  for  what  He  is  than  for 
what  He  has  done  or  will  do  for  him  individually, 
and  God's  honor  becomes  so  dear  to  him  that  he 
feels  personally  wounded  when  that  is  called  in 
question.  And  the  will  of  God  becomes  so  dear  to 
him  that  he  loves  it  best  when  it  *  triumphs  at  his 
cost.' 

"  Once  he  only  prayed  at  set  times  and  seasons, 
and  idolized  good  frames  and  fervent  emotions. 
Now  he  prays  without  ceasing,  and  whether  on  the 
mount  or  down  in  the  depths  depends  wholly  upon 
his  Saviour. 

**  His  old  self-confidence  has  now  given  place  to 
child-like  humility  that  will  not  let  him  take  a  step 
alone,  and  the  sweet  peace  that  is  now  habitual  to 
him,  combined  with  the  sense  of  his  own  imperfec- 
tions, fills  him  with  love  to  his  fellow-man.  He 
hears  and  believes  and  hopes  and  endures  all  things 
and  thinketh  no  evil.  The  tones  of  his  voice,  the 
very  expression  of  his  countenance,  become  changed, 


Stepping  Heavenward  337 

love  now  controlling  where  human  passions  held 
sway.  In  short,  he  is  not  only  a  new  creature  in 
Jesus  Christ,  but  the  habitual  and  blessed  conscious- 
ness that  this  is  so." 

These  words  were  spoken  deliberately  and  with 
reflection. 

"  You  have  described  my  mother,  just  as  she  was 
from  the  moment  her  only  son,  the  last  of  six,  was 
taken  from  her,"  I  said,  at  last.  "  I  never  before 
quite  understood  how  that  final  sorrow  weaned  her, 
so  to  say,  from  herself,  and  made  her  life  all  love  to 
God  and  all  love  to  man.  But  I  see  it  now.  Dear 
Mrs.  Campbell,  pray  for  me  that  I  may  yet  wear  her 
mantle  !  " 

She  smiled  with  a  significance  that  said  she  had 
already  done  so,  and  then  we  parted — parted  that 
she  might  end  her  pilgrimage  and  go  to  her  rest — 
parted  that  I  might  pursue  mine,  I  know  not  how 
long,  nor  amid  how  many  cares  and  sorrows,  nor 
with  what  weariness  and  heart-sickness — parted  to 
meet  again  in  the  presence  of  Him  we  love,  with 
those  who  have  come  out  of  great  tribulation,  whose 
robes  have  been  made  white  in  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb,  and  who  are  before  the  throne  of  God,  and 
serve  Him  day  and  night  in  His  temple,  to  hunger 
no  more,  neither  thirst  any  more,  for  the  Lamb  which 
is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall  lead  them  into 
living  fountains  of  waters  ;  and  God  shall  wipe 
away  all  tears  from  their  eyes. 

May  25. — We  were  talking  of  Mrs.  Campbell,  and 
of  her  blessed  life  and  blessed  death.    Helen  said  it 


338  Stepping  Heavenward 

discouraged  and  troubled  her  to  see  and  hear  such 
things. 

"The  last  time  I  saw  her  when  she  was  able  to 
converse,"  said  she,  "  I  told  her  that  when  I  reflected 
on  my  want  of  submission  to  God's  will,  I  doubted 
whether  I  really  could  be  His  child.  She  said,  in 
her  gentle,  sweet  way  : 

"^  Would  you  venture  to  resist  His  will,  if  you 
could  ?  Would  you  really  have  your  dear  James 
back  again  in  this  world,  if  could  ? ' 

" '  I  would,  I  certainly  would,'  I  said. 

"  She  returned,  *  I  sometimes  find  it  a  help,  when 
dull  and  cramped  in  my  devotions,  to  say  to  myself: 
Suppose  Christ  should  now  appear  before  you,  and 
you  could  see  Him  as  He  appeared  to  His  disciples 
on  earth,  what  would  you  say  to  Him  ?  This  brings 
Him  near,  and  I  say  what  I  would  say  if  He  were 
visibly  present.  I  do  the  same  when  a  new  sorrow 
threatens  me.  I  imagine  my  Redeemer  as  coming 
personally  to  say  to  me,  "  For  your  sake  I  am  a  man 
of  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  grief  ;  now  for  My 
sake  give  me  this  child,  bear  this  burden,  submit  to 
this  loss."  Can  I  refuse  Him  ?  Now,  dear,  he  has 
really  come  thus  to  you,  and  asked  you  to  show  your 
love  to  Him,  your  faith  in  Him,  by  giving  Him  the 
most  precious  of  your  treasures.  If  He  were  here 
at  this  moment,  and  offered  to  restore  it  to  you, 
would  you  dare  to  say,  "  Yea,  Lord,  I  know,  far 
better  than  Thou  dost,  what  is  good  for  him  and 
good  for  me  ;  I  will  have  him  return  to  me,  cost 
what  it  may  ;  in  this  world  of  uncertainties  and  dis- 
appointments  I   shall   be   sure   of  happiness  in    his 


Stepping  Heave7iward  339 

society,  and  he  will  enjoy  more  here  on  earth  with 
me  than  he  could  enjoy  in  the  companionship  of 
saints  and  angels  and  of  the  Lord  Himself  in 
heaven."  Could  you  dare  to  say  this?'  Oh,  Katy, 
what  straits  she  drove  me  into  !  No,  I  could  not 
dare  to  say  that !  " 

•^Then,  my  darling  little  sister!"  I  cried,  "you 
will  give  up  this  struggle  ?  You  will  let  God  do 
what  He  will  with  His  own  ? " 

"  I  have  to  let  Him,"  she  replied  ;  "  but  I  submit 
because  I  must." 

I  looked  at  her  gentle,  pure  face  as  she  uttered 
these  words,  and  could  only  marvel  at  the  strong 
will  that  had  no  expression  there. 

**  Tell  me,"  she  said,  "do  you  think  a  real  Chris- 
tian can  feel  as  I  do  ?  For  my  part  I  doubt  it.  I 
doubt  everything." 

"  Doubt  everything,  but  believe  in  Christ,"  I  said. 
"  Suppose,  for  argument's  sake,  you  are  not  a  Chris- 
tian. You  can  become  one  now."  The  color  rose 
in  her  lovely  face  ;  she  clasped  her  hands  together 
in  a  sort  of  ecstasy. 

"  yifi-,"  she  said,  "  I  canJ' 

At  last  God  had  sent  her  the  word  she  wanted. 

May  28. — Helen  came  to  breakfast  this  morning 
in  a  simple  white  dress.  I  had  not  time  to  tell  the 
children  not  to  allude  to  it,  so  they  began  in  chorus  : 

"Why,  Aunt  Helen!  you  have  put  on  a  white 
dress  !" 

"Why,  Aunty,  how  queer  you  look  !" 

"  Hurrah  !  if  she  don't  look  like  other  folks  !" 


340  Stepping  Heavenward 

She  bore  it  all  with  her  usual  gentleness  ;  or  rather 
with  a  positive  sweetness  that  captivated  them  as 
her  negative  patience  had  never  done.  I  said  noth- 
ing to  her,  nor  did  she  to  me  till  late  in  the  day, 
when  she  came  to  me,  and  said  : 

*'  Katy,  God  taught  you  what  to  say.  All  these 
years  I  have  been  tormenting  myself  with  doubts 
as  to  whether  I  could  be  His  child  while  so  unable 
to  say,  Thy  will  be  done.  If  you  had  said,  *  Why, 
yes,  you  must  be  His  child,  for  you  professed  your- 
self one  a  long  time  ago,  and  ever  since  have  lived 
like  one,'  I  should  have  remained  as  wretched  as 
ever.  As  it  is,  a  mountain  has  been  rolled  off  my 
heart.  Yes,  if  I  was  not  His  child  yesterday,  I  can 
become  one  to-day  ;  if  I  did  not  love  Him  then,  I 
can  begin  now." 

I  do  not  doubt  that  she  was  His  child,  yesterday, 
and  last  year,  and  years  ago.  But  let  her  think  what 
she  pleases.  A  new  life  is  opening  before  her  ;  I 
believe  it  is  to  be  a  life  of  entire  devotion  to  God, 
and  that  out  of  her  sorrow  there  shall  spring  up  a 
wondrous  joy. 

Sept.  2,  Sweet  Briar  Farm. — Ernest  spent  Sunday 
with  us,  and  I  have  just  driven  him  to  the  station, 
and  seen  him  safely  off.  Things  have  prospered 
with  us  to  such  a  degree  that  he  has  been  extrava- 
gant enough  to  give  me  the  use,  for  the  summer,  of 
a  bonnie  little  nag  and  an  antiquated  vehicle,  and  I 
have  learned  to  drive.  To  be  sure  I  broke  one  of 
the  shafts  of  the  poor  old  thing  the  first  time  I  ven- 
tured forth  alone,  and   the  other  day  nearly  upset 


Stepping  Heavenward  341 

my  cargo  of  children  in  a  pond  where  I  was  silly- 
enough  to  undertake  to  water  my  horse.  But  Er- 
nest, as  usual,  had  patience  with  me,  and  begged  me 
to  spend  as  much  time  as  possible  in  driving  about 
with  the  children.  It  is  a  new  experience,  and  I  en- 
joy it  quite  as  much  as  he  hoped  I  should.  Helen 
is  not  with  us  ;  she  has  spent  the  whole  summer 
with  Martha  ;  for  Martha,  poor  thing,  is  suffering 
terribly  from  rheumatism  and  is  almost  entirely 
helpless.  I  am  so  sorry  for  her,  after  so  many  years 
of  vigorous  health,  how  hard  it  must  be  to  endure 
this  pain.  With  this  drawback,  we  have  had  a  de- 
lightful summer  ;  not  one  sick  day,  nor  one  sick 
night.  With  no  baby  to  keep  me  awake,  I  sleep 
straight  through,  as  Raymond  says,  and  wake  in  the 
morning  refreshed  and  cheerful.  We  shall  have  to 
go  home  soon  ;  how  cruel  it  seems  to  bring  up  chil- 
dren in  a  great  city  !  Yet  what  can  be  done  about 
it  ?  Wherever  there  are  men  and  women  there  must 
be  children  ;  what  a  howling  wilderness  either  city 
or  country  would  be  without  them  ! 

The  only  drawback  on  my  felicity  is  the  separa- 
tion from  Ernest,  which  becomes  more  painful  every 
year  to  us  both.  God  has  blessed  our  married  life  ; 
it  has  had  its  waves  and  its  billows,  but,  thanks  be 
unto  Him,  it  has  at  last  settled  down  into  a  calm 
sea  of  untroubled  peace.  While  I  was  secretly  up- 
braiding my  dear  husband  for  giving  so  much  at- 
tention to  his  profession  as  to  neglect  me  and  my 
children,  he  was  becoming,  every  day,  more  the  ideal 
of  a  physician,  cool,  calm,  thoughtful,  studious, 
ready  to  sacrifice  his  life  at  any  moment  in  the  in- 


342  Stepping  Heavenzvard 

terests  of  humanity.  How  often  I  have  mistaken 
his  preoccupied  air  for  indifference  ;  how  many 
times  I  have  inwardly  accused  him  of  coldness,  when 
his  whole  heart  and  soul  were  filled  with  the  grave 
problem  of  life,  aye,  and  of  death  likewise. 

But  we  understand  each  other  now,  and  I  am  sure 
that  God  dealt  wisely  and  kindly  with  us  when  He 
brought  together  two  such  opposite  natures.  No 
man  of  my  vehement  nature  could  have  borne  with 
me  as  Ernest  has  done,  and  if  he  had  married  a 
woman  as  calm,  as  undemonstrative  as  himself  what 
a  strange  home  his  would  have  been  for  the  nurture 
of  little  children  ?  But  the  heart  was  in  him,  and 
only  wanted  to  be  waked  up,  and  my  life  has  called 
forth  music  from  his.  Ah,  there  are  no  partings 
and  meetings  now  that  leave  discords  in  the  re- 
membrance, no  neglected  birthdays,  no  forgotten 
courtesies.  It  is  beautiful  to  see  the  thoughtful 
brow  relax  in  presence  of  wife  and  children,  and  to 
know  that  ours  is,  at  last,  the  happy  home  I  so  long 
sighed  for.  Is  the  change  all  in  Ernest  ?  Is  it  not 
possible  that  I  have  grown  more  reasonable,  less 
childish  and  aggravating  ? 

We  are  at  a  farm-house.  Everything  is  plain,  but 
neat  and  nice.  I  asked  Mrs.  Brown,  our  hostess,  the 
other  day,  if  she  did  not  envy  me  my  four  little  pets  ; 
she  smiled,  said  they  were  the  best  children  she  ever 
saw,  and  that  it  was  well  to  have  a  family  if  you 
have  means  to  start  them  in  the  world  ;  for  her  part, 
she  lived  from  hand  to  mouth  as  it  was,  and  was 
sure  she  could  never  stand  the  worry  and  care  of  a 
house  full  of  young  ones. 


Stepping  Heave7tward  343 

"  But  the  worry  and  care  is  only  half  the  story,"  I 
said.     "  The  other  half  is  pure  joy  and  delight." 

"  Perhaps  so,  to  people  that  are  well-to-do,"  she 
replied  ;  **  but  to  poor  folks,  driven  to  death  as  we 
are,  it's  another  thing.  I  was  telling  him  yesterday 
what  a  mercy  it  was  there  wasn't  any  young  ones 
round  under  my  feet,  and  I  could  take  city  boarders, 
and  help  work  off  the  mortgage  on  the  farm." 

"And  what  did  your  husband  say  to  that?" 

"Well,  he  said  we  were  young  and  hearty,  and 
there  was  no  such  tearing  hurry  about  the  mortgage, 
and  that  he'd  give  his  right  hand  to  have  a  couple 
of  boys  like  yours." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Why,  I  said,  supposing  we  had  a  couple  of  boys, 
they  wouldn't  be  like  yours,  dressed  to  look  genteel 
and  to  have  their  genteel  ways  ;  but  a  pair  of  wild 
colts,  into  everything,  tearing  their  clothes  off  their 
backs,  and  wasting  faster  than  we  could  earn.  He 
said  'twasn't  the  clothes,  'twas  the  flesh  and  blood 
he  wanted,  and  'twasn't  no  use  to  argufy  about  it ; 
a  man  that  hadn't  got  any  children  wasn't  mor'n 
half  a  man.  ^Well,'  says  I,  'supposing  you  had  a 
pack  of  'em,  what  have  you  got  to  give  'em  ? '  'Jest 
exactly  what  my  father  and  mother  gave  me,'  says 
he  ;  'two  hands  to  earn  their  bread  with,  and  a  wel- 
come you  could  have  heard  from  Dan  to  Beersheba.'  " 

"  I  like  to  hear  that !  "  I  said.  "  And  I  hope  many 
such  welcomes  will  resound  in  this  house.  Suppose 
money  does  come  in  while  little  goes  out  ;  suppose 
you  get  possession  of  the  whole  farm  ;  what  then  ? 
Who  will  enjoy  it  with  you  ?    Who  will  you  leave  it 


344  Stepping  Heavenward 

to  when  you  die  ?  And  in  your  old  age  who  will 
care  for  you  T 

"  You  seem  awful  earnest,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  am  in  earnest.  I  want  to  see  little  chil- 
dren adorning  every  home,  as  flowers  adorn  every 
meadow  and  every  wayside.  I  want  to  see  them 
welcomed  to  the  homes  they  enter,  to  see  their 
parents  grow  less  and  less  selfish,  and  more  and 
more  loving,  because  they  have  come.  I  want  to 
see  God's  precious  gifts  accepted,  not  frowned  upon 
and  refused." 

Mr.  Brown  came  in,  so  I  could  say  no  more.  But 
my  heart  warmed  towards  him,  as  I  looked  at  his 
frank,  good-humored  face,  and  I  should  have  been 
glad  to  give  him  the  right  hand  of  fellowship.  As 
it  was,  I  could  only  say  a  word  or  two  about  the 
beauty  of  his  farm,  and  the  scenery  of  this  whole 
region. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  gratified  that  I  appreciated  his 
fields  and  groves,  "  it  is  a  tormented  pretty-laying 
farm.  Part  of  it  was  her  father's,  and  part  of  it 
was  my  father's  ;  there  ain't  another  like  it  in  the 
country.  As  to  the  scenery,  I  don't  know  as  I  ever 
looked  at  it ;  city  folks  talk  a  good  deal  about  it,  but 
they've  nothing  to  do  but  look  round."  Walter  came 
trotting  in  on  two  bare,  white  feet,  and  with  his 
shoes  in  his  hand.  He  had  had  his  nap,  felt  as 
bright  and  fresh  as  he  looked  rosy,  and  I  did  not 
wonder  at  Mr.  Brown's  catching  him  up  and  clasp- 
ing his  sunburnt  arms  about  the  little  fellow,  and 
pressing  him  against  the  warm  heart  that  yearned 
for  nestlings  of  its  own 


Stepping  Heavenward  345 

Sept.  23. — Home  again,  and  full  of  the  thousand 
cares  that  follow  the  summer  and  precede  the  win- 
ter. But  let  mothers  and  wives  fret  as  they  will, 
they  enjoy  these  labors  of  love,  and  would  feel  lost 
without  them.  For  what  amount  of  leisure,  ease, 
and  comfort  would  I  exchange  husband  and  chil- 
dren and  this  busy  home  ? 

Martha  is  better,  and  Helen  has  come  back  to  us. 
I  don't  know  how  we  have  lived  without  her  so 
long.  Her  life  seems  necessary  to  the  completion 
of  every  one  of  ours.  Some  others  have  fancied  it 
necessary  to  the  completion  of  theirs,  but  she  has 
not  agreed  with  them.  We  are  glad  enough  to  keep 
her,  and  yet  I  hope  the  day  will  come  when  she,  so 
worthy  of  it,  will  taste  the  sweet  joys  of  wifehood 
and  motherhood. 

January  i,  1853. — It  is  not  always  so  easy  to  prac- 
tice, as  it  is  to  preach.  I  can  see  in  my  wisdom 
forty  reasons  for  having  four  children  and  no  more. 
The  comfort  of  sleeping  in  peace,  of  having  a  little 
time  to  read,  and  to  keep  on  with  my  music ; 
•strength  with  which  to  look  after  Ernest's  poor  peo- 
ple when  they  are  sick ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth, 
strength  to  be  bright  and  fresh  and  lovable  to  him — 
all  these  little  joys  have  been  growing  very  precious 
to  me,  and  now  I  must  give  them  up.  I  want  to  do 
it  cheerfully  and  without  a  frown.  But  I  find  I  love 
to  have  my  own  way,  and  that  at  the  very  moment 
I  was  asking  God  to  appoint  my  work  for  me,  I  was 
secretly  marking  it  out  for  myself.  It  is  mortifying 
to  find  my  will   less  in  harmony  with    His  than  I 


346  Stepping  Heavenward 

thought  it  was,  and  that  I  want  to  prescribe  to  Him 
how  I  shall  spend  the  time,  and  the  health  and  the 
strength  which  are  His,  not  mine.  But  I  will  not 
rest  till  this  struggle  is  over  ;  till  I  can  say  with  a 
smile^  "  Not  my  will  !     Not  my  will !     But  Thine  !  " 

We  have  been,  this  winter,  one  of  the  happiest 
families  on  earth.  Our  love  to  each  other,  Ernest's 
and  mine,  though  not  perfect — nothing  on  earth  is — 
has  grown  less  selfish,  more  Christlike  ;  it  has  been 
sanctified  by  prayer  and  by  the  sorrows  we  have 
borne  together.  Then  the  children  have  been  well 
and  happy,  and  the  source  of  almost  unmitigated 
joy  and  comfort.  And  Helen's  presence  in  this 
home,  her  sisterly  affection,  her  patience  with  the 
children  and  her  influence  over  them,  is  a  benedic- 
tion for  which  I  cannot  be  thankful  enough.  How 
delightful  it  is  to  have  a  sister  !  I  think  it  is  not 
often  the  case  that  own  sisters  have  such  perfect 
Christian  sympathy  with  each  other  as  w^e  have. 
Ever  since  the  day  she  ceased  to  torment  herself 
with  the  fear  that  she  was  not  a  child  of  God,  and 
laid  aside  the  sombre  garments  she  had  worn  so  long, 
she  has  had  a  peace  that  has  hardly  known  a  cloud. 
She  says,  in  a  note  written  me  about  the  time  : 

"  I  want  you  to  know,  my  darling  sister,  that  the 
despondency  that  made  my  affliction  so  hard  to  bear 
fled  before  those  words  of  yours,  which,  as  I  have 
already  told  you,  God  taught  you  to  speak.  I  do 
not  know  whether  I  was  really  His  child,  at  the  time, 
or  not.  I  had  certainly  had  an  experience  very  dif- 
ferent from  yours  ;  prayer  had  never  been  much 
more  to  me  than  a  duty  ;  and   I   had  never  felt  the 


Stepping  Heavenward  347 

sweetness  of  that  harmony  between  God  and.  the 
human  soul  that  I  now  know  can  take  away  all  the 
bitterness  from  the  cup  of  sorrow.  I  knew — who 
can  help  knov/ing  it  that  reads  God's  word  ? — that 
He  required  submission  from  His  children  and  that 
His  children  gave  it,  no  matter  what  it  cost.  The 
Bible  is  full  of  beautiful  expressions  of  it ;  so  are 
our  hymns  ;  so  are  the  written  lives  of  all  good  men 
and  good  women  ;  and  I  have  seen  it  in  you,  my 
dear  Katy,  at  the  very  moment  you  were  accusing 
yourself  of  the  want  of  it.  Entire  oneness  of  the 
will  with  the  Divine  Will  seem  to  me  to  be  the 
law  and  the  gospel  of  the  Christian  life  ;  and  this 
evidence  of  a  renewed  nature  I  found  wanting  in 
myself.  At  any  moment  during  the  three  years  fol- 
lowing James'  death  I  would  have  snatched  him 
away  from  God,  if  I  could  ;  I  was  miserably  lonely 
and  desolate  without  him,  not  merel)^  because  he 
had  been  so  much  to  me,  but  because  his  loss  re- 
vealed to  me  the  distance  between  Christ  and  my 
soul.  All  I  could  do  was  to  go  on  praying,  year 
after  year,  in  a  dreary,  hopeless  way,  that  I  might 
learn  to  say,  as  David  did,  '  I  opened  not  my  mouth 
because  Thou  didst  it.'  When  you  suggested  that 
instead*  of  trying  to  find  out  whether  I  had  loved 
God  I  should  begin  to  love  Him  now,  light  broke  in 
upon  my  soul  ;  I  gave  myself  to  Him  that  instant ; 
and  as  soon  as  I  could  get  away  by  myself  I  fell 
upon  my  knees  and  gave  myself  up  to  the  sense  of 
His  sovereignty  for  the  first  time  in  my  life.  Then, 
too,  I  looked  at  my  ^  light  affliction,'  and  at  the  'weight 
of  glory '  side  by  side,  and  thanked  Him  that  through 


34^  Stepping  Heavenward 

the  one  He  had  revealed  to  me  the  other.  Katy,  I 
know  the  human  heart  is  deceitful  above  all  things, 
but  I  think  it  would  be  a  dishonor  to  God  to  doubt 
that  He  then  revealed  Himself  to  me  as  He  doth  not 
to  the  world,  and  that  the  sweet  peace  I  then  found 
in  yielding  to  Him  will  be  more  or  less  mine  so  long 
as  I  live.  Oh,  if  all  sufferers  could  learn  what  I 
have  learned  !  that  every  broken  heart  could  be 
healed  as  mine  has  been  healed  !  My  precious  sis- 
ter, cannot  we  make  this  one  part  of  our  mission  on 
earth,  to  pray  for  every  sorrow-stricken  soul,  and 
whenever  we  have  influence  over  such,  to  lead  it  to 
honor  God  by  instant  obedience  to  His  will,  what- 
ever that  may  be  ?  I  have  dishonored  Him  by  years 
of  rebellious,  carefully-nursed  sorrow  ;  I  want  to 
honor  Him  now  by  years  of  resignation  and  grate- 
ful joy." 

Reading  this  letter  over  in  my  present  mood  has 
done  me  good.  More  beautiful  faith  in  God  than 
Helen's  I  have  never  seen  ;  let  me  have  it,  too. 
May  this  prayer,  which,  under  the  inspiration  of  the 
moment,  I  can  offer  without  a  misgiving,  become  the 
habitual,  deep-seated  desire  of  my  soul  : 

*"'  Bring  into  captivity  every  thought  to  the  obe- 
dience of  Christ.  Take  what  I  cannot  give — my 
heart,  body,  thoughts,  time,  abilities,  money,  health, 
strength,  nights,  days,  youth,  age,  and  spend  them 
in  Thy  service,  O  my  crucified  Master,  Redeemer, 
God.  Oh,  let  not  these  be  mere  words  !  Whom 
have  I  in  heaven  but  Thee  ?  and  there  is  none  upon 
earth  that  I  desire  in  comparison  of  Thee.  My 
heart  is  athirst  for  God,  for  the  living  God.  When 
shall  I  come  and  appear  before  God  ?" 


XXVII. 

August  t. 
I  HAVE  just  written  to  Mrs.  Brown  to  know 
whether  she  will  take  us  for  the  rest  of  the  summer. 
A  certain  little  man,  not  a  very  old  little  man  either, 
has  kept  us  in  town  till  now.  Since  he  has  come,  we 
are  all  very  glad  of  him,  though  he  came  on  his 
ov/n  invitation,  brought  no  wardrobe  with  him,  does 
not  pay  for  his  board,  never  speaks  a  word,  takes  no 
notice  of  us,  and  wants  more  waiting  on  than  any 
one  else  in  the  house.  The  children  are  full  of  de- 
licious curiosity  about  him,  and  overwhelm  him  with 
presents  of  the  most  heterogeneous  character. 

Sweet  Briar  Farm,  Aug.  9. — We  got  there  this 
afternoon,  bag  and  baggage.  I  had  not  said  a  word 
to  Mrs.  Brown  about  the  addition  to  our  family  cir- 
cle, knowing  she  had  plenty  of  room,  and  as  we 
alighted  from  the  carriage,  I  snatched  my  baby 
from  his  nurse's  arms  and  ran  gaily  up  the  walk 
with  him  in  mine.  "If  this  splendid  fellow  doesn't 
convert  her  nothing  will,"  I  said  to  myself.  At  that 
instant  what  should  I  see  but  Mrs.  Brown,  running 
to  meet  me  with  a  boy  in  her  arms  exactly  like  Mr. 
Brown,  only  not  quite  six  feet  long,  and  not  yet 
sun-burnt. 

(349) 


350  Steppmg  Heavenward 

*^  There  ! '*  I  cried,  holding  up  my  little  old  man. 

"  There  !  "  said  she,  holding  up  hers. 

We  laughed  till  we  cried  ;  she  took  my  baby  and 
I  took  hers  ;  after  looking  at  him  I  liked  mine  bet- 
ter than  ever  ;  after  looking  at  mine  she  was  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  hers. 

We  got  into  the  house  at  last  ;  that  is  to  say,  we 
mothers  did  ;  the  children  darted  through  it  and  out 
of  the  door  that  led  to  the  fields  and  woods,  and 
vanished  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 

Mrs.  Brown  had  always  been  a  pretty  woman, 
with  bright  eyes,  shining,  well-kept  hair,  and  a  color 
in  her  cheeks  like  the  rose  which  had  given  its  name 
to  her  farm.  But  there  was  now  a  new  beauty  in 
her  face  ;  the  mysterious  and  sacred  sufferings  and 
joys  of  maternity  had  given  it  thought  and  feeling. 

'''•  I  had  no  idea  I  should  be  so  fond  of  a  baby," 
she  said,  kissing  it,  whenever  she  stopped  to  put  in 
a  comma  ;  **  but  I  don't  know  how  I  ever  got  along 
without  one.  He's  off  at  work  nearly  the  whole 
day,  and  when  I  had  got  through  with  mine,  and 
had  put  on  my  afternoon  dress,  and  was  ready  to  sit 
down,  you  can't  think  how  lonesome  it  was.  But 
now,  by  the  time  I  am  dressed,  baby  is  ready  to  go 
out  to  get  the  air  ;  he  knows  the  minute  he  sees  me 
bring  out  his  little  hat  that  he  is  going  to  see  his 
father,  and  he's  awful  fond  of  his  father.  Though 
that  isn't  so  strange,  either,  for  his  father's  awful  fond 
of  him.  All  his  little  ways  are  so  pretty,  and  he  never 
cries  unless  he's  hungry  or  tired.  Tell  mother  a 
pretty  story  now  ;  yes,  mother  hears,  bless  his  little 
heart !  " 


Stepping  Heavenward  351 

Then  when  Mr.  Brown  came  home  to  his  supper, 
his  face  was  a  sight  to  see,  as  he  caught  sight  of  me 
at  my  open  window,  and  came  to  it  with  the  child's 
white  arms  clinging  to  his  neck,  looking  as  happy 
and  as  bashful  as  a  girl. 

"  You  see  she  must  needs  go  to  quartering  this 
bouncing  young  one  on  to  me,"  he  said,  "  as  if  I  didn't 
have  to  work  hard  enough  before.  Well,  maybe 
he'll  get  his  feed  off  the  farm  ;  we'll  see  what  we 
can  do." 

*' Mamma,"  Una  whispered,  as  he  went  off  with 
his  fac-simile,  to  kiss  it  rapturously,  behind  a  wood- 
pile, "  do  you  think  Mrs.  Brown's  baby  very  pretty  ? " 

Which  was  so  mild  a  way  of  suggesting  the  fact 
of  the  case,  that  I  kissed  her  without  trying  to  hide 
my  amusement. 

Aug.  10. — After  being  cooped  up  in  town  so  large 
a  part  of  the  summer,  the  children  are  nearly  wild 
with  delight  at  being  in  the  country  once  more. 
Even  our  demure  Una  skips  about  with  a  buoyancy 
I  have  never  seen  in  her  ;  she  never  has  her  ill  turns 
when  out  of  the  city,  and  I  wish,  for  her  sake,  that 
we  could  always  live  here.  As  to  Raymond  and 
Walter,  I  never  pretend  to  see  them  except  at  their 
meals  and  their  bedtime  ;  they  just  live  out  of 
doors,  following  the  men  at  their  work,  asking  all 
sorts  of  absurd  questions,  which  Mr.  Brown  reports 
to  me  every  night,  with  shouts  of  delighted  laughter. 
Two  gay  and  gladsome  boys  they  are  ;  really  good 
without  being  priggish  ;  I  don't  think  I  could  stand 
that.      People   ask    me    how    it   happens    that   my 


352  Stepping  Heavenward 

children  are  all  so  promptly  obedient  and  so  happy. 
As  if  it  chanced  that  some  parents  have  such  chil- 
dren, or  chanced  that  some  have  not !  I  am  afraid  it 
it  is  only  too  true,  as  some  one  has  remarked,  that 
**  this  is  the  age  of  obedient  parents  !  "  What  then 
will  be  the  future  of  their  children  ?  How  can  they 
yield  to  God  who  have  never  been  taught  to  yield 
to  human  authority  ?  And  how  well  fitted  will  they 
be  to  rule  their  own  households  who  have  never 
learned  to  rule  themselves  ? 

Aug.  31. — This  has  been  one  of  those  cold,  dismal, 
rainy  days  which  are  not  unfrequent  during  the 
month  of  August.  So  the  children  have  been 
obliged  to  give  up  the  open  air,  of  which  they  are 
so  fond,  and  fall  back  upon  what  entertainment 
could  be  found  within  the  house.  I  have  read  to 
them  the  little  journal  I  kept  during  the  whole  life 
of  the  brother  I  am  not  willing  they  should  forget. 
His  quaint  and  sagacious  sayings  were  delicious  to 
them  ;  the  history  of  his  first  steps,  his  first  words 
sounded  to  them  like  a  fairy  tale.  And  the  story  of 
his  last  steps,  his  last  words  on  earth,  had  for  them 
such  a  tender  charm,  that  there  was  a  cry  of  disap- 
pointment from  them  all,  when  I  closed  the  little 
book,  and  told  them  we  should  have  to  wait  till  we 
got  to  heaven  before  we  could  know  anything  more 
about  his  precious  life. 

How  thankful  I  am  that  I  kept  this  journal,  and 
that  I  have  almost  as  charming  ones  about  most  of 
my  other  children  !  What  I  speedily  forgot  amid 
the  pressure  of  cares  and  of  new  events  is  safely 


Stepping  Heavenward  353 

written    down,  and  will   be    the    source  of  endless 
pleasure  to  them  long  after  the  hand  that  wrote  has 
ceased  from  its  labors,  and  lies  inactive  and  at  rest. 
Ah,  it  is  a  blessed  thing  to  be  a  mother  ! 

September  i. — This  baby  of  mine  is  certainly  the 
sweetest  and  best  I  ever  had.  I  feel  an  inexpressi- 
ble tenderness  for  it  which  I  cannot  quite  explain 
to  myself,  for  I  have  loved  them  all  dearly,  most 
dearly.  Perhaps  it  is  so  with  all  mothers  ;  perhaps 
they  all  grow  more  loving,  more  forbearing,  more 
patient  as  they  grow  older,  and  yearn  over  these 
helpless  little  ones  with  an  ever-increasing,  yet  chas- 
tened delight.  One  cannot  help  sheltering  their 
tender  infancy,  who  will  so  soon  pass  forth  to  fight 
the  battle  of  life,  each  one  waging  an  invisible  war- 
fare against  invisible  foes.  How  thankfully  we 
would  fight  it  for  them,  if  we  might  ! 

September  20. — The  mornings  and  evenings  are 
very  cool  now,  while  in  the  middle  of  the  day  it  is 
quite  hot.  Ernest  comes  to  see  us  very  often,  un- 
der the  pretense  that  he  can't  trust  me  with  so  young 
a  baby  !  He  is  so  tender  and  thoughtful,  and  spoils 
me  so,  that  this  world  is  very  bright  to  me  ;  I  am  a 
little  jealous  of  it  ;  I  don't  want  to  be  so  happy  in 
Ernest,  or  in  my  children,  as  to  forget  for  one  in- 
stant that  I  am  a  pilgrim  and  a  stranger  on  earth. 

Evening.— There  is  no  danger  that  I  shall.  Er- 
nest suddenly  made  his  appearance  to-night,  and  in 
a  great  burst  of    distress  quite    unlike  anything  I 


354  Stepping  Heavenward 

ever  saw  in  him,  revealed  to  me  that  he  had  been 
feeling  the  greatest  anxiety  about  me  ever  since  the 
baby  came.  It  is  all  nonsense.  I  cough,  to  be  sure  ; 
but  that  it  is  owing  to  the  varying  temperature  we 
always  have  at  this  season.  I  shall  get  over  it  as 
soon  as  we  get  home,  I  dare  say. 

But  suppose  I  should  not ;  w^hat  then  ?  Could  I 
leave  this  precious  little  flock,  uncared  for,  untend- 
ed  ?  Have  I  faith  to  believe  that  if  God  calls  me 
away  from  them,  it  will  be  in  love  to  them  ?  I  do 
not  know.  The  thought  of  getting  away  from  the 
sin  that  still  so  easily  besets  me  is  very  delightful, 
and  I  have  enjoyed  so  many,  many  such  foretastes 
of  the  bliss  of  heaven  that  I  know  I  should  be  happy 
there  ;  but  then  my  children,  all  of  them  under 
twelve  years  old  !     I  will  not  choose,  I  dare  not. 

My  married  life  has  been  a  beautiful  one.  It  is 
true  that  sin  and  folly,  and  sickness  and  sorrow, 
have  marred  its  perfection,  but  it  has  been  adorned 
by  a  love  which  has  never  faltered.  My  faults  have 
never  alienated  Ernest ;  his  faults,  for  like  other 
human  beings  he  has  them,  have  never  overcome 
my  love  to  him.  This  has  been  the  gift  of  God  in 
answer  to  our  constant  prayer,  that  whatever  other 
bereavement  we  might  have  to  suffer,  we  might 
never  be  bereft  of  this  benediction.  It  has  been  the 
glad  secret  of  a  happy  marriage,  and  I  wish  I  could 
teach  it  to  every  human  being  who  enters  upon  a 
state  that  must  bring  with  it  the  depth  of  misery,  or 
life's  most  sacred  and  mysterious  joy. 

October  6. — Ernest  has  let  me  stay  here  to  see 


Stepping  Heavenward  355 

the  autumnal  foliage  in  its  ravishing  beauty  for  the 
first,  perhaps  for  the  last,  time.  The  woods  and 
fields  and  groves  are  lighting  up  my  very  soul !  It 
seems  as  if  autumn  had  caught  the  inspiration  and 
the  glow  of  summer,  had  hidden  its  floral  beauty, 
its  gorgeous  sunsets  and  its  bow  of  promise  in  its 
heart  of  hearts,  and  was  now  flashing  it  forth  upon 
the  world  with  a  lavish  and  opulent  hand.  I  can 
hardly  tear  myself  away,  and  return  to  the  prose  of 
city  life.  But  Ernest  has  come  for  us,  and  is  eager 
to  get  us  home  before  colder  weather.  I  laugh  at 
his  anxiety  about  his  old  wife.  Why  need  he  fancy 
that  this  trifling  cough  is  not  to  give  way  as  it  often 
has  done  before  ?  Dear  Ernest !  I  never  knew  that 
he  loved  me  so. 

October  31. — Ernest's  fear  that  he  had  let  me 
stay  too  long  in  the  country  does  not  seem  to  be 
justified.  We  went  so  late  that  I  wanted  to  indulge 
the  children  by  staying  late.  So  we  have  only  just 
got  home.  I  feek  about  as  well  as  usual  ;  it  is  true 
I  have  a  little  soreness  about  the  chest,  but  it  does 
not  signify  anything. 

I  never  was  so  happy  in  my  husband  and  children, 
in  other  words  in  my  home^  as  I  am  now.  Life  looks 
very  attractive.  I  am  glad  that  I  am  going  to  get 
well. 

But  Ernest  watches  me  carefully,  and  wants  me, 
as  a  precautionary  measure,  to  give  up  music,  writ- 
ing, sewing,  and  painting — the  very  things  that  oc- 
cupy me  ! — and  lead  an  idle,  useless  life,  for  a  time. 
I  cannot  refuse  what  he  asks  so  tenderly,  and  as  a 


356  Stepping  Heavenward 

personal  favor  to  himself.  Yet  I  should  like  to  fill 
the  few  remaining  pages  of  my  Journal ;  I  never  like 
to  leave  things  incomplete. 

June  i,  1858. — I  wrote  that  seven  years  ago,  little 
dreaming  how  long  it  would  be  before  I  should  use 
a  pen.     Seven  happy  years  ago  ! 

I  suppose  that  some  who  have  known  what  my 
outward  life  has  been  during  this  period  would 
think  of  me  as  a  mere  object  of  pity.  There  has 
certainly  been  suffering  and  deprivation  enough  to 
justify  the  sympathy  of  my  dear  husband  and  chil- 
dren, and  the  large  circle  of  friends  who  have  ral- 
lied about  us.  How  little  we  knew  we  had  so 
many  ! 

God  has  dealt  very  tenderly  with  me.  I  was  not 
stricken  down  by  sudden  disease,  nor  were  the 
things  I  delighted  in  all  taken  away  at  once.  There 
was  a  gradual  loss  of  strength  and  gradual  increase 
of  suffering,  and  it  was  only  by  degrees  that  I  was 
asked  to  give  up  the  employments  in  which  I  de- 
lighted, my  household  duties,  my  visits  to  the  sick 
and  suffering,  the  society  of  beloved  friends.  Per- 
haps Ernest  perceived  and  felt  my  deprivations 
sooner  than  I  did  ;  his  sympathy  always  seemed  to 
out-run  my  disappointments.  When  I  compare  him, 
as  he  is  now,  with  what  he  was  when  I  first  knew 
him,  I  bless  God  for  all  the  precious  lessons  He  has 
taught  him  at  my  cost.  There  is  a  tenacity  and 
persistence  about  his  love  for  me  that  has  made 
these  years  almost  as  wearisome  to  him  as  they 
have  been  to  me.     As  to  myself,  if  1  had  been  told 


Stepping  Heavenward  357 

what  I  was  to  learn  through  these  protracted  suffer- 
ings, I  am  afraid  I  should  have  shrunk  back  in  ter- 
ror, and  so  have  lost  all  the  sweet  lessons  God  pro- 
posed to  teach  me.  As  it  is,  He  has  led  me  on,  step 
by  step,  answering  my  prayers  in  His  own  way  ; 
and  I  cannot  bear  to  have  a  single  human  being 
doubt  that  it  has  been  a  perfect  way.  I  love  and 
adore  it  just  as  it  is. 

Perhaps  the  suspense  has  been  one  of  the  most 
trying  features  of  my  case.  Just  as  I  have  unclasped 
my  hand  from  my  dear  Ernest's  ;  just  as  I  have  let 
go  my  almost  frantic  hold  of  my  darling  children  ; 
just  as  heaven  opened  before  me,  and  I  fancied  my 
weariness  over  and  my  wanderings  done  ;  just  then 
almost  every  alarming  symptom  would  disappear, 
and  life  recall  me  from  the  threshold  of  heaven  it- 
self. Thus  I  have  been  emptied  from  vessel  to  ves- 
sel, till  I  have  learned  that  he  only  is  truly  happy 
who  has  no  longer  a  choice  of  his  own,  and  lies 
passive  in  God's  hand. 

Even  now  no  one  can  foretell  the  issue  of  this 
sickness.  We  live  a  day  at  a  time,  not  knowing 
what  shall  be  on  the  morrow.  But  whether  I  live  or 
die,  my  happiness  is  secure,  and  so,  I  believe,  is  that 
of  my  beloved  ones.  This  is  a  true  picture  of  our 
home  : 

A  sick-room  full  of  the  suffering  that  ravages  the 
body,  but  cannot  touch  the  soul.  A  worn,  wasting 
mother  ministered  unto  by  a  devoted,  saintly  hus- 
band and  by  unselfish.  Christian  children.  Some  of 
the  peace  of  God,  if  not  all  of  it,  shines  in  every 
face,  is  heard  in  every  tone.     It  is  a  home  that  typi 


358  Stepping  Heavenward 

fies  and  foreshadows  the  home  that  is  perfect  and 
eternal. 

Our  dear  Helen  has  been  given  us  for  this  emer- 
gency. Is  it  not  strange  that  seeing  our  domestic 
life  should  have  awakened  in  her  some  yearnings  for 
a  home  and  a  heart  and  children  of  her  own.  She 
has  said  that  there  was  a  weary  point  in  her  life 
when  she  made  up  her  mind  that  she  was  never  to 
know  these  joys.  But  she  accepted  her  lot  grace- 
fully. I  do  not  know  any  other  word  that  describes 
so  well  the  beautiful  offering  she  made  of  her  life, 
first  to  God,  and  then  to  us.  He  accepted  it,  and 
has  given  her  all  the  cares  and  responsibilities  of 
domestic  life,  without  the  transcendant  joys  that 
sustain  the  wife  and  the  mother.  She  has  been  all 
in  all  to  our  children,  and  God  has  been  all  in  all  to 
her.  And  she  is  happy  in  His  service  and  in  our 
love. 

June  13. — It  took  me  nearly  two  weeks  to  write 
the  above,  at  intervals,  as  my  strength  allowed. 
Ernest  has  consented  to  my  finishing  this  volume, 
of  which  so  few  pages  yet  remain.  And  he  let  me 
see  a  dear  old  friend  who  came  all  the  way  from  my 
native  town  to  see  me — Dr.  Eaton,  our  family  phy- 
sician as  long  as  I  could  remember.  He  is  of  an 
advanced  age,  but  full  of  vigor,  his  eye  bright,  and 
with  a  healthful  glow  on  his  cheek.  But  he  says  he 
is  waiting  and  longing  for  his  summons  home. 
About  that  home  we  had  a  delightful  talk  together 
that  did  my  very  heart  good.  Then  he  made  me  tell 
him  about  this  long  sickness  and  the  years  of  frail 


Stepping   Heavenward  359 

health  and  some  of  the  sorrows  through  which  I  had 
toiled. 

"Ah,  these  lovely  children  are  explained  now," 
he  said. 

**Do  you  really  think,"  I  asked,  "that  it  has  been 
good  for  my  children  to  have  a  feeble,  afflicted 
mother?" 

"  Yes,  I  really  think  so.  A  disciplined  mother — 
disciplined  children." 

This  comforting  thought  is  one  of  the  last  drops 
in  a  cup  of  felicity  already  full. 

June  20. — Another  Sunday,  and  all  at  church  ex- 
cept my  darling  Una,  who  keeps  watch  over  her 
mother.  These  Sundays,  when  I  have  had  them 
each  alone  in  turn,  have  been  blessed  days  to  them 
and  to  me.  Surely  this  is  some  compensation  for 
what  they  lose  in  me  of  health  and  vigor.  I  know 
the  state  of  each  soul  as  far  as  it  can  be  known,  and 
have  every  reason  to  believe  that  my  children  all  love 
my  Saviour  and  are  trying  to  live  for  Him.  I  have 
learned,  at  last,  not  to  despise  the  day  of  small 
things,  to  cherish  the  tenderest  blossom,  and  to  ex- 
pect my  dear  ones  to  be  imperfect  before  they 
become  perfect  Christians. 

Una  is  a  sweet,  composed  young  girl,  now  eigh- 
teen years  old,  and  what  can  I  say  more  of  the  love 
her  brothers  bear  her,  than  this  :  they  never  tease  her. 
She  has  long  ceased  asking  why  she  must  have  deli- 
cate health  when  so  many  others  of  her  age  are  full 
of  animal  life  and  vigor,  but  stands  in  her  lot  and 
place,  doing  what  she  can,  suffering  what  she  must, 


360  Stepping  Heavenward 

with  a  meekness  that  makes  her  lovely  in  my  eyes, 
and  that  I  am  sure  unites  her  closely  to  Christ. 

June  27. — It  was  Raymond's  turn  to  stay  with  me 
to-day.  He  opened  his  heart  to  me  more  freely 
than  he  had  ever  done  before. 

^^  Mamma/'  he  began,  ^'  if  papa  is  willing,  I  have 
made  up  my  mind — that  is  to  say  if  I  ever  get 
decently  good — to  go  on  a  mission." 

I  said,  playfully  : 

"And  mamma's  consent  is  not  to  be  asked  ?" 

"  No,"  he  said,  getting  hold  of  what  there  is  left 
of  my  hand,  "  I  know  you  wouldn't  say  a  word. 
Don't  you  remember  telling  me  once,  when  I  was  a 
little  boy,  that  I  might  go  and  welcome  ?" 

^'And  don't  you  remember,"  I  returned,  ^^  that 
you  cried  for  joy,  and  then  relieved  your  mind  still 
farther,  by  walking  on  your  hands,  with  your  feet  in 
the  air?" 

We  both  laughed  heartily,  at  this  remembrance, 
and  then  I  said  : 

"  My  dear  boy,  you  know  your  father's  plan  for 
you  ?" 

"Yes,  I  know  he  expects  me  to  study  with  him, 
and  take  his  place  in  the  world." 

"  And  it  is  a  very  important  place." 

His  countenance  fell,  as  he  fancied  I  was  not 
entering  heartily  into  hi§  wishes. 

"  Dear  Raymond,"  I  went  on,  "  I  gave  you  to  God 
long  before  you  gave  yourself  to  Him.  If  He  can 
make  you  useful  in  your  own,  or  in  other  lands,  I 
bless  His  name.     Whether  I  live  to  see  you  a  man, 


Stepping  Heavenward  361 

or  not,  I  hope  you  will  work  in  the  Lord's  vineyard, 
wherever  He  calls.  I  never  asked  anything  for  you 
but  usefulness,  in  all  my  prayers  for  you  ;  never 
once.  His  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  he  kissed  me, 
and  walked  away  to  the  window,  to  compose  him- 
self. My  poor,  dear,  lovable,  loving  boy  !  He  has 
all  his  mother's  trials  and  struggles  to  contend 
with  ;  but  what  matter  it  if  they  bring  him  the 
same  peace  ? 

June  30. — Everybody  wonders  to  see  me  once 
more  interested  in  my  long-closed  Journal,  and  be- 
coming able  to  see  the  dear  friends  from  whom  I 
have  been,  in  a  measure,  cut  off.  We  cannot  ask  the 
meaning  of  this  remarkable  increase  of  strength. 

I  have  no  wish  to  choose.  But  I  have  come  to  the 
last  page  of  my  Journal,  and  living  or  dying,  shall 
write  in  this  volume  no  more.  It  closes  upon  a  life 
of  much  childishness  and  great  sinfulness,  whose 
record  makes  me  blush  with  shame,  but  I  no  longer 
need  to  relieve  my  heart  with  seeking  sympathy  in 
its  unconscious  pages,  nor  do  I  believe  it  well  to  go 
on  analyzing  it  as  I  have  done.  I  have  had  large 
experience  of  both  joy  and  sorrow  ;  I  have  seen 
the  nakedness  and  the  emptiness,  and  I  have  seen 
the  beauty  and  sweetness  of  life.  What  I  have  to 
say  now,  let  me  say  to  Jesus.  What  time  and 
strength  I  used  to  spend  in  writing  here,  let  me  now 
spend  in  praying  for  all  men,  for  all  sufferers,  for  all 
who  are  out  of  the  way,  for  all  whom  I  love.  And 
their  nam.e  is  Legion,  for  I  love  everybody. 

Yes,  I  love  everybody  !     That  crowning  joy  has 


362  Stepping  Heavenward 

come  to  me  at  last.  Christ  is  in  my  soul  ;  He  is 
mine  ;  I  am  as  conscious  of  it  as  that  my  husband 
and  children  are  mine  ;  and  His  Spirit  flows  forth 
from  mine  in  the  calm  peace  of  a  river,  whose  banks 
are  green  with  grass,  and  glad  with  flowers.  If  I 
die  it  will  be  to  leave  a  wearied  and  worn  body,  and 
a  sinful  soul,  to  go  joyfully  to  be  with  Christ,  to 
weary  and  to  sin  no  more.  If  I  live,  I  shall  find 
much  blessed  work  to  do  for  Him.  So  living  or 
dying,  I  shall  be  the  Lord's. 

But  I  wish,  oh,  how  earnestly,  that  whether  I  go  or 
stay,  I  could  inspire  some  lives  with  the  joy  that  is 
now  mine.    For  many  years  I  have  been  rich  in  faith; 
rich  in  an  unfaltering  confidence  that  I  was  beloved 
of  my  God  and  Saviour.    But  something  was  want- 
ing ;  I  was  ever  groping  for  a  mysterious  grace  the 
want  of  which  made  me  often  sorrowful  in  the  very 
midst  of    my  most   sacred    joy,  imperfect  when   I 
most  longed  for  perfection.      It  was  that  personal 
love  to  Christ  of  which  my  precious  mother  so  often 
spoke  to  me,  which  she  often  urged  me  to  seek  upon 
my  knees.     If  I  had  known  then,  as  I  know  now, 
what  this  priceless  treasure   could    be  to  a  sinful 
human  soul,  I  would  have  sold  all  that  I  had  to  buy 
the  field  wherein  it  lay  hidden.     But  not  till  I  was 
shut  up  to  prayer  and  to  the  study  of  God's  word 
by  the  loss  of  earthly  joys,  sickness  destroying  the 
flavor  of  them  all,  did  I  begin  to  penetrate  the  mys- 
tery  that    is    learned    under  the  cross.     And  won- 
drous as  it  is,  how  simple  is  this  mystery  !     To  love 
Christ,  and  to  know  that  I  love  Him — this  is  all ! 
And  when  I  entered  upon  the  sacred  yet  oft-times 


Stepping  Heavenward  363 

homely  duties  of  married  life,  if  this  love  had  been 
mine,  how  would  that  life  have  been  transfigured  ! 
The  petty  faults  of  my  husband  under  which  I 
chafed  would  not  have  moved  me  ;  I  should  have 
welcomed  Martha  and  her  father  to  my  home  and 
made  them  happy  there  ;  I  should  have  had  no  con- 
flicts with  my  servants,  shown  no  petulance  to  my 
children.  For  it  would  not  have  been  I  who  spoke 
and  acted,  but  Christ  who  lived  in  me. 

Alas  !  I  have  had  less  than  seven  years  in  which 
to  atone  for  a  sinful,  wasted  past,  and  to  live  a  new 
and  a  Christ-like  life.  If  I  am  to  have  yet  more, 
thanks  be  to  Him  who  has  given  me  the  victory, 
that  Life  will  be  Love.  Not  the  love  that  rests  in 
the  contemplation  and  adoration  of  its  object ;  but 
the  love  that  gladdens,  sweetens,  solaces  other  lives. 

O  gifts  of  gifts  !     O  grace  of  faith  ! 

My  God  !  how  can  it  be 
That  Thou,  who  hast  discerning  love, 

Shouldst  give  that  gift  to  me  ? 

How  many  hearts  thou  mightst  have  had 

More  innocent  than  mine  ! 
How  many  souls  more  worthy  far 

Of  that  sweet  touch  of  Thine? 

Oh,  grace  !  into  unlikeliest  hearts 

It  is  thy  boast  to  come, 
The  glory  of  Thy  light  to  find 

In  darkest  spots  a  home. 

Oh,  happy,  happy  that  I  am  ! 

If  thou  canst  be,  O  faith. 
The  treasure  that  thou  art  in  life 

What  wilt  thou  be  in  death  ? 


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